Category: English

1 Ten years after I walked away from James, I became the target of a rain-slicked serial killer. As the lead detective on the case, he saved my life, but afterward, he treated me with the cold, sterile professionalism of a stranger. Until I ran into him in my apartment building’s elevator. He smirked, utterly convinced I had stalked him there. “Jennifer, you don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Following me all the way here? If you wanted to explain yourself, just say it.” The elevator chimed, stopping at the twelfth floor. I stared at him, completely speechless, before calmly stepping out. I pointed to the door right behind me. “I’m home, Lieutenant.” … The rain started in the evening. It began as a soft, rhythmic patter against the bookstore’s glass windows, slowly swelling into a heavy, continuous wall of white noise. It was the perfect backdrop, letting me lose myself completely in the pages of a psychological thriller. A sudden flash of lightning shattered my focus. I blinked, pulling myself back to reality, only to realize how late it had gotten. As I packed up to close the shop, I glanced at the wall clock. It was 10:42 PM. The torrential downpour had cleared the streets, leaving the asphalt dark and empty. My apartment wasn’t far. Opening my umbrella, I stepped into the chill of the damp night air. Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my pocket, the vibration making me jump. It was a local news alert. A serial killer targeting lone women had struck again, and the active search area was right here in Southside, my neighborhood. A cold shiver snaked down my spine. I instinctively quickened my pace. Of course, that was when I heard it, the heavy, wet thud of boots splashing in the puddles behind me. Peeking past the edge of my umbrella, I stole a glance over my shoulder. I barely had time to register a dark silhouette before a heavy arm swung upward. “Ah!” A blinding pain exploded at the back of my skull. My vision swam, and the world began to tilt. As the darkness rushed in to swallow me, I caught a fleeting glimpse of a tall, familiar figure sprinting toward me through the rain. Was I hallucinating? The sharp, medicinal sting of disinfectant was the first thing that hit my senses. My eyelids felt like they were weighted with lead. I struggled to focus on the man sitting in the chair beside my hospital bed. He wore a crisp police uniform, his broad shoulders slumped with exhaustion. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees, eyes closed, his brow furrowed in a deep, tight frown. My head throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache. Everything in the room seemed to have a hazy, glowing edge. I rubbed my eyes, squinting to make out his features. He was alert. The slightest rustle of my sheets was enough to make his eyes snap open. “You’re awake,” he said. As he sat up, the fluorescent lights caught his face. The sharp lines of his jaw, the familiar depth of his voice, it all came rushing back. I couldn’t believe it. “James?” “Yeah.” He stood up, turning to call the doctor. James and I had been high school sweethearts. We shared a desk, shared our secrets, and fell in love with the easy intensity of youth. We had promised each other we would go to the same university. If it hadn’t been for the car crash right before graduation, we probably would have been married by now. The doctor walked in behind him, conducting a brief, routine check. “Nothing to worry about. Just a mild concussion. Get some rest, and you can be discharged tomorrow morning.” “Thank you, Doctor,” James said, politely escorting him to the door. “What time is it?” I asked, my voice sounding thin and raspy. “Twelve-thirty.” He walked back to the bedside but didn’t sit down. He stood there, tall and imposing, looking down at me. “So, what were you doing out so late?” He gestured to the gold lieutenant’s insignia on his shoulders, making sure I saw it. “Is it that hard to figure out? I’m the lead detective on this case. In the last seven days, two young women have been targeted in that exact block. Both on rainy nights. Both about five-foot-five, just like you.” He delivered the facts with a flat, clinical detachment, but the reality of it made my stomach drop. The danger had been right on my heels. “Did you… did you catch him?” My voice trembled. “We were patrolling nearby when we heard the struggle. I ran to get to you, and he used the distraction to slip away.” His tone remained utterly level, devoid of any warmth. “But at least you’re alive.” “I’m sorry…” “Jennifer,” he interrupted, using my full name. I looked up, meeting his dark, intense gaze. He was broader now than he had been ten years ago, his handsome face weathered by time and the harsh realities of his job, giving him a rugged, mature edge. But his eyes were exactly the same. “What exactly are you apologizing for?” He paused, his voice dropping a fraction colder. The question hung in the air, wrapping around my throat. I couldn’t find the words, and the silence stretched between us like an ocean. A flicker of disappointment crossed his features. “Never mind. Don’t worry about it. Saving you was just me doing my job.” I knew I should say something. I knew exactly what he wanted to hear, but there were too many ghosts, too many unspoken misunderstandings piled between us. Seeing me remain silent, he picked up his jacket from the chair. “Since you don’t have anything to say, I’ll head out. I’ve got an officer stationed outside your door. Get some rest.” “James.” He reached the doorway, and the name slipped past my lips before I could stop it. He paused, looking back at me over his shoulder. “Thank you for tonight.” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Just ‘thank you’?” 2 By the next morning, my vitals had stabilized, and the doctor cleared the police to take my official statement. The door pushed open, and James walked in, followed by a younger officer. James had dark circles bruising the skin under his eyes, and a rough shadow of stubble dusted his jaw. “Miss Jennifer, Lieutenant James gave us the overview, but we need you to walk us through the timeline of last night in your own words,” the young officer said, his tone gentle and encouraging. I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat as I tried to piece the memories together. “I was locking up the bookstore. I stepped outside at exactly 10:42 PM. The rain was coming down hard.” “Did you notice anything unusual when you first started walking?” “No, not at first. I turned the corner onto the main street, walked maybe one or two hundred yards, and then I heard footsteps behind me. I went to look back, and that’s when I saw him, a man in a black raincoat with the hood pulled low.” A wave of cold dread washed over me as the memory replayed. My voice faltered. The young officer pressed gently. “Did you notice any physical characteristics? Height? Build?” “He was a bit taller than me, maybe five-foot-nine. Very thin. I couldn’t see his face,” I said, straining to remember any detail that might help. “Wait, his left hand. He had a large, textured scar on his wrist, running up his forearm. It looked like an old, severe burn.” James, who had been listening silently, stopped scribbling in his notepad. The look on his face, the intense, hyper-focused scowl, was identical to the way he used to look in high school when he was trying to crack a difficult math problem. For a split second, the man in front of me overlapped perfectly with the boy from my past, and a sharp ache bloomed in my chest. “The scar,” James said, his voice husky from a night of no sleep. “Can you be more specific about the size and shape?” “It was on the outside of his left forearm, right near the wrist. It was jagged, irregular, about the size of a palm.” James nodded, his pen scratching against the paper. “Understood. This suspect is highly likely to target you again, so you need to be extremely careful. You’re our primary lead and our main concern, so we will be keeping a very close eye on you.” He paused, reaching into his tactical vest to pull out his personal phone. He unlocked it and held it out to me in one smooth, practiced motion. “Put your number in. Call me immediately if you see anything off. And try not to go out alone unless it’s absolutely necessary.” I quickly tapped my digits into the screen. “My social media is linked to that number too…” The words slipped out before my brain could stop them. James looked up, a faint glint of surprise softening his eyes. I quickly lowered my head, my cheeks burning. A thick, awkward silence settled over the room. The young officer suddenly cleared his throat, looking between us with a knowing grin before backing out of the room. James’s thumb swiped across his screen a few times. A second later, my own phone buzzed on the bedside table with a new friend request. The doctor walked in, breaking the tension. “Miss Jennifer, your discharge papers are signed. Just make sure to get plenty of rest, avoid any strenuous activity, and follow up if you feel dizzy.” “Thank you, Doctor.” I gathered my things, ready to leave. “I’ll drive you,” James said, his eyes fixed on the rain sliding down the window pane. “Excuse me?” He turned around, his expression flat. “Do you see anyone else in this room?” “There’s no need to trouble yourself, Lieutenant,” I said quickly, trying to re-establish the boundary between us. “I can just call a cab. It’s a short ride.” After the cold way he had spoken to me the night before, I didn’t think I had the stomach to sit in a cramped car alone with him. His jaw tightened, as if he wanted to argue, but he ultimately just pressed his lips into a thin line and opened the door for me. “Officer Cole, escort Miss Jennifer downstairs and make sure she gets into a cab safely.” 3 The taxi pulled up to the curb outside my apartment complex. The air outside smelled of wet earth and fresh rain. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves as I walked toward my building. I scanned my key fob at the entrance, hurried through the lobby, and headed toward the elevators. One of the cabs was sitting open on the ground floor, the doors just starting to slide shut. I jogged forward to catch it, but before I could reach out, a large, calloused hand slipped between the sliding metal doors, forcing them back open. My eyes met James’s. For a second, we both just stood there, frozen in mutual shock. What on earth was he doing here? The doors closed, sealing us inside the small metal box. The faint, comforting scent of tobacco and clean spice radiated off him. He was tall, his broad frame taking up a significant portion of the space as he stood just half a step behind me. I kept my eyes down, quietly reaching out to press the button for the twelfth floor. “Jennifer,” he started, his tone light and self-assured. “If you wanted to explain things, or if you just wanted to talk, we exchanged numbers. You could have called. Or asked to grab a coffee.” He paused, a smug little smile playing at the corner of his lips. “You didn’t have to follow me all the way here. Seriously.” I didn’t say a word. I just turned my head and stared at him with a look that I hoped conveyed my deep concern for his mental sanity. Ten years apart had apparently turned him into an incredibly delusional man. James met my gaze, the smugness in his eyes giving way to a tiny, hopeful expectation. “Now that you’ve followed me to my building, what is it you want to say? Go ahead, I’m listening…” Ding. The elevator announced our arrival at the twelfth floor. Without waiting for him to finish his sentence, I stepped briskly out of the elevator. I turned back to face him, pointing to the apartment door directly opposite the hallway. “Lieutenant James, this is my apartment. I live here.” The elevator doors began to slide shut. Through the narrowing gap, I saw him spin around, his back to me, suddenly incredibly busy. He yanked out his phone, rubbed his nose, and frantically started pressing buttons on the control panel. It turns out, even tough detectives look incredibly stupid when they’re dying of embarrassment. Back inside my apartment, I couldn’t help but wonder. Did he live here too? I had been here for six months and had never run into him once. But then again, given his erratic hours and demanding job, it made sense. My phone vibrated. A text from James. Which unit? I replied with a question mark. A long pause, then: Protocol. We’re setting up a perimeter around your residence and frequent locations. Since I live in the building, I’m taking this sector. Apt 1203. Thanks, Lieutenant. For the next two days, my life fell into a quiet, repetitive routine. On the surface, everything seemed normal, but the unmarked car parked near my bookstore and the unfamiliar faces lingering in my building’s courtyard were constant reminders that the threat was still out there. Since adding James on social media, my phone would buzz like clockwork twice a day, once at 7:30 AM and again at 10:30 PM. Morning. Night. Never a second late. Never an extra punctuation mark. It was clear he was just keeping tabs on his high-priority target, making sure I was still breathing. On the third day, the storm returned. What started as a light drizzle in the afternoon turned into a roaring deluge by nightfall. Heavy sheets of rain whipped against my living room windows, the wind howling through the concrete corridors of the building. Anxiety settled deep in my chest. I curled up in the corner of my sofa, trying to lose myself in a book to block out the storm. Suddenly, a sound cut through the noise. Knock. Knock, knock. It was soft, but in the quiet of my apartment, it sounded like a gunshot. Who could it be? I had no family in this city, and my few friends never dropped by unannounced, especially not in a storm like this. My heart hammered against my ribs. I quietly picked up a heavy metal dumbbell from the floor and crept toward the door on tip-toe. Knock, knock, knock… The sound came again, faster this time. Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my veins. The Southside Slayer. Rainy nights. Lone women. The words flashed in my mind like a neon sign. I held my breath, leaning in to look through the peephole. But the hallway was pitch black. The motion-activated lights outside hadn’t turned on. I couldn’t see a thing. Had they left? Or were they standing right out there, waiting for me to open the door? Cold sweat broke out across my forehead. I couldn’t just stand here. I dialed James’s number. It rang once. Twice. “Jennifer?” James’s voice came through, tense and alert, accompanied by the faint, muffled sound of rain in the background. “James…” My voice cracked, tears hot against my eyelids. “Someone is knocking on my door. I can’t see who it is. The hallway is completely dark.” “Are you at home? Apt 1203?” “Yes.” “Stay on the line. Lock the door, don’t make a sound. I’m on my way.” His words came in a rapid-fire clip. I retreated to the corner behind the sofa, clutching the phone to my ear as I heard him bark orders into his radio: “All units, we have an active suspect at Apt 1203! Perimeter team, seal the lobby immediately! I’m moving in.” Seconds stretched into agonizing eternities. Suddenly, heavy, hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, rushing straight toward my door. Knock, knock, knock. The wood rattled against the frame.

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Flirting with Dax was the sweetest thing ever. Normally, I did not even use his real name. Whenever we were alone, I would playfully call him, “Husband.” He would immediately blush from his collar up to his hairline, muttering stiffly, “Don’t say that.” Sure, got it. I would absolutely do it again next time. Until I saw the comments. [Stop shouting, sister. The moment his childhood best friend gets back, he is going to tell you to stop joking like that in front of everyone.] [She is happily calling him husband now, but he is really just too polite to embarrass her.] I froze in my tracks. Dax was standing by the entrance of the corner store, holding the strawberry milkshake I had mentioned wanting. “Anything else?” I took the bag, the smile fading from my face. “No, that is it.” “Thanks, Dax.” 1 Dax visibly hesitated. He stood there holding the plastic bag from the store, the thin material rustling softly in the cool night breeze. Just minutes ago, I had casually mentioned wanting a strawberry milkshake. He had scoffed, saying, “You are not a kid,” but his feet had already carried him inside. In the past, I would have pressed my face against the glass window, beaming at him. When he walked out, I would have drawn out my words, teasing him. “Thanks, husband.” Then I would watch him turn red. Dax was incredibly shy. It was not a fake, performative shyness either. It was genuine. The first time I called him that was at the diner near campus. I had forgotten my wallet, and he swiped his student ID to buy us both burgers and fries. Holding my fork, I grinned and said, “Thanks, husband.” Dax nearly choked on his soda. His ears flushed so red they looked sunburned. “Sadie,” he muttered, lowering his voice, “don’t say that.” I blinked. “Should I call you babe instead?” He looked even more uncomfortable. “No.” “Mr. Dax?” “…” “Boss?” “Just eat your fries.” That was when I figured him out. Dax looked cold and distant, a quiet, straight A student with the kind of sharp, handsome face that regularly ended up on the campus confession pages. He was the classic untouchable heartthrob. But a little teasing, and he completely unraveled. It was adorable. I did not have any bad intentions. I just loved seeing him try so hard to keep his cool when he was actually panicking inside. And he never got truly angry. Every time he told me to stop, he would still bring me coffee the next day, save me a seat in class, and wait for my lectures to end. I thought it was a mutual flirtation. I thought we both knew what we were doing. But the comments said otherwise. They said he was just too polite to push me away. The wind outside the corner store felt cold. I pulled the milkshake out of the bag and tried to push the straw through the lid. My hand shook slightly, and I missed twice. Dax reached out. “Let me.” I instinctively went to hand it over. Halfway through, the comments flashed in my mind. My hand went rigid. “No, it is fine.” Dax looked at me. “You are going to spill it.” I looked down. He was right. Before, I would have pushed it into his hands without a second thought. Help me, husband. He would scowl, tell me to stop calling him that, and then carefully pierce the lid for me. Now, I pulled the straw back, lined it up, and forced it through myself. I pushed too hard, and a drop of pink liquid splashed onto the back of my hand. Dax’s forehead creased, and his hand moved toward his pocket for a tissue. I was faster. I pulled a napkin from my bag and wiped it off. “All set.” Dax’s hand hovered in midair. I pretended not to notice, taking a sip of the sweet milkshake. It was sugary, but a bitter taste settled in my mouth. “Is something wrong today?” Dax asked. I kept my teeth on the straw. “Nothing at all.” He watched me. “What did you just call me?” My chest tightened. “Dax.” “Why?” I looked up at him, forcing a smile. “Weren’t you always telling me not to call you those other names?” Dax was quiet for a few seconds. The streetlights cast long shadows from his eyelashes across his cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quietly. I wanted to ask him what he did mean. But the comments were already drifting across my mind again. [Of course he didn’t mean to be harsh, he is just too nice to say it track blankly.] [The worst part of being the side character is mistaking his politeness for affection.] [Once his childhood friend Isla gets back, he will start keeping his distance. She will realize then how embarrassing her wishful thinking was.] I swallowed the question. “Yeah, I know,” I said, keeping my tone light. “I won’t do it anymore.” Dax stared at me. “I wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea,” I added. His forehead creased instantly. “Who would get the wrong idea?” “Everyone,” I said. “Do you care what everyone thinks?” I wanted to say no. But as the words reached my lips, I realized there was no point in denying it. I did not want to get the wrong idea either. I did not want to be standing there like a fool when he finally told me to stop joking in front of a crowd. I took another sip. “Yeah.” Dax did not say another word. We walked back to the dorms side by side. Normally, I would fill this walk with useless chatter, complaining about homework, pointing out a cute dog, or joking about wishing the school would burn down before my 8 AM class. Dax usually did not say much, but he would listen. Sometimes he would look at me when my rants got too ridiculous. Even that quiet look felt sweet back then. Tonight, I was silent. It was so quiet that when we reached the steps of my dorm, Dax suddenly stopped. “Sadie.” I paused. “Yeah?” He pressed his lips together, looking like he wanted to say something. But in the end, he only managed, “Are we still going to the library tomorrow?” Before, I would have said, Of course, wait for me at our usual spot, husband. Now, I just nodded. “Sure. Thanks, Dax.” His face darkened completely. But I waved and turned away before he could say anything else. “See you tomorrow.” 2 When I got back to the room, my roommate Tessa was putting on a face mask. Seeing me, she immediately sat up. “Back so early? Didn’t your boy Dax keep you downstairs for another ten minutes of lingering goodbyes?” I set the milkshake on my desk. “No.” Tessa squinted. “Did you guys fight?” “No.” “Your face says otherwise.” I sat down and unzipped my backpack. “Really, we didn’t.” Tessa leaned closer. “Then what is up? Usually you come back grinning like you won the lottery. Tonight you look like you are about to fail calculus.” I let out a weak laugh, but my eyes quickly cast downward. “I was just thinking, have I been a bit too much lately? Like, crossing boundaries?” Tessa blinked. “You?” “Yeah.” “With Dax?” I nodded. Tessa ripped the face mask off. “Aren’t you guys literally flirting every single day?” My hands paused on my books. “Do you think so too?” “Duh,” Tessa said. “If he didn’t like you, would he save you a seat every morning? Would he run down to get you a milkshake just because you mentioned it? Would he just blush and tell you to behave when you call him husband?” “Maybe he is just really nice,” I murmured. Tessa stared at me in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?” I looked at her. “Dax? Nice?” she scoffed. “He doesn’t say more than three words to anyone else.” I did not answer. She did not know about the comments. She did not know his childhood friend was coming back. She did not know that one day, Dax would tell me to stop making those jokes in front of everyone. Seeing that I was genuinely upset, Tessa softened her tone. “Sadie, did someone say something to you?” I shook my head. “No.” “So you are really going to stop teasing him?” I pushed the milkshake a little further away. “Yeah. I’m going to stop.” Tessa sighed. “Well, Dax is going to lose his mind.” I smiled faintly. “No, he won’t.” The comments drifted across my vision again. [Of course he won’t lose his mind. It saves him the trouble of dealing with her.] [The worst thing in a situationship is when one person gets too ahead of themselves. It is smart of her to pull the brakes now.] [Isla comes back tomorrow. The school forum is going to blow up. They grew up together, who is this random girl compared to her?] Looking at those words, my heart took a slow, heavy dip. The next day, news of Isla’s return spread everywhere. She was Dax’s childhood friend and had been a prominent figure on campus before she took a year off to go abroad for medical treatment. Now she was back. People on the campus forum were digging up old photos of them. High school academic competitions, family dinners, and one incredibly blurry photo from a sports meet. In that photo, Isla was standing by the finish line, and Dax, looking exhausted after a run, was leaning over with his hands on his knees. She was handing him a bottle of water, and he was reaching for it. I stared at that photo for a long time. It was just a bottle of water. I had given him water before too. But the comments kept coming. [The classic childhood friend entry. High school memories always win.] [Dax was never the type to accept water from just anyone back then.] [A corner store milkshake really can’t compete with years of shared history.] I put my phone face down. Tessa muttered beside me, “People on the forum are so annoying. It is a bottle of water, and they are writing a whole romance novel about it.” I smiled. “Maybe people just like a good story.” “And you? Aren’t you mad?” I shook my head. “Why would I be mad?” I was not his girlfriend. I did not even have the right to be jealous. When I went to the library that afternoon, I deliberately arrived ten minutes late. Normally, Dax would be the one waiting for me, and today was no different. He was sitting by the window, a vacant chair saved next to him. On the desk sat an iced latte. Half sweet. No ice. Exactly how I liked it. My steps faltered. Dax looked up, and the tension in his eyes seemed to ease slightly when he saw me. “You’re here.” I sat down and pushed the cup back toward his side of the table. “You don’t have to buy things for me anymore.” Dax looked at the cup. “You’re not drinking it?” “I just had water.” He was quiet for a moment. “You said yesterday you wanted one.” I froze. I had indeed casually mentioned it because the classroom had been freezing during our late lecture. Before, knowing he remembered such minor details would have made me ecstatic. Now, it only made my chest ache. The more he remembered, the easier it was for me to get the wrong idea. I pushed the cup right to the center of the table. “Thanks, but you really don’t have to go to the trouble.” Dax’s grip on his pen tightened. “Sadie.” I kept my eyes on my book. “Yeah?” “Since yesterday, you’ve done nothing but thank me.” I blinked slowly. “It is polite to say thank you.” He watched me. “You never used to say it before.” I thought about it. Before, I would have said: You are the best, husband. How did you get so perfect, Dax? Are you secretly in love with me or something? And his ears would turn bright red. Now that I thought about it, I really had lacked boundaries. “I was being childish back then,” I murmured. The tip of Dax’s pen stopped on the paper. “Childish?” I nodded. “Yeah.” He let out a short, frustrated breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “Who told you that?” I shook my head. “No one.” The comments rolled by. [At least she is self aware now.] [Isla is almost at the library. Get ready for the drama.] [Backing off now keeps things graceful. Better than waiting for him to shut her down in public.] My chest tightened. Almost immediately, there was a quiet murmur near the entrance of the library. Someone whispered, “Isla’s here.” I looked up. Isla was wearing a soft blue sweater, her long hair falling over her shoulders. She looked a bit pale, but she was beautiful. As she walked in, several heads turned. She saw Dax and smiled. “Dax.” It sounded so natural. Unlike me and my ridiculous, teasing nicknames. Isla walked over, her gaze landing on me. “And who is this?” Before Dax could speak, I quickly smiled. “I’m Sadie. We are in the same department.” We are in the same department. Clean, polite, and distant. Isla nodded. “Nice to meet you.” She sat down across from Dax and pulled out a binder. “I just got back and I’ve missed so much. You mentioned I could borrow your notes?” Dax looked at me, not answering her right away. I began packing my books. He asked, “Where are you going?” “I’m going to study vocabulary over by the stacks,” I said. “You can’t study here?” I smiled. “You two should catch up. I won’t disturb you.” Dax’s brow furrowed deep. “Sadie.” But I had already gathered my things and walked behind the bookshelves. 3 I spent half an hour behind the shelves trying to memorize words, but none of them stuck. My ears kept straining to hear the quiet conversation from their table. Isla’s voice was soft, and Dax barely spoke, just giving brief answers. They really were just looking at notes. There was no flirting, no crossing of lines. But a heavy weight settled in my chest anyway. There was an effortless familiarity between them. Without needing much explanation, the moment Isla mentioned a topic, Dax knew exactly which textbook she meant. When she said, “You still have that old habit,” Dax paused before replying, “Can’t seem to break it.” I had no part in that history. I had only known him for six months. In those six months, I had used jokes and teasing to slowly chip away at his silence. I thought I had gotten close to him. But the moment Isla returned, I realized how shallow that closeness really was. The moment I took back the nickname, we were nothing more than ordinary classmates. My eyes grew hot as I stared at the vocabulary list. [Don’t look, it only hurts more.] [Isla didn’t even do anything, but the power of a childhood friend lies in how natural it is.] [She thought she was special, but she is realizing there is a line she can’t cross.] I closed the book. When I left the library that evening, Dax came running out after me. Isla was already gone. He stood at the bottom of the steps, holding the untouched latte. “Sadie.” I stopped. “What’s wrong?” He held the cup out to me, his lips parting as if to speak, but he hesitated. I did not take it. “It is fine, you drink it.” Dax looked down at the cup. “It is half sweet.” “Yeah.” “I don’t drink sweet things.” My heart gave a small squeeze. He did not like sweet things. This was meant for me, and I knew it. But I could not take it. Taking it would mean slipping back into old habits. I forced a smile. “Then throw it away.” Dax’s face darkened instantly. “What is wrong with you lately?” The evening wind swept up the library steps. I clutched my books, my fingers completely numb from the cold. “Nothing’s wrong.” “Yesterday you called me Dax.” “That’s your name.” “You didn’t use to call me that.” My chest ached. What did I use to call him? I wanted to ask, but I did not dare. Those nicknames were just my one sided jokes. Husband. Babe. Boss. No matter how happily I said them, they were never real. I lowered my eyes. “I didn’t have any boundaries before.” Dax stared at me. “Say that again.” My nose tingled. It was rare for him to speak in such a cold, sharp tone. But it only proved the comments were right. He had probably been tolerating me for a long time. Now that Isla was back, he finally had a reason to draw the line. “I won’t make those jokes anymore,” I said softly. Dax was silent. After a long pause, he asked, “Including those names?” I nodded. His grip tightened, slightly crushing the paper cup in his hand. “Why?” I tried to keep my voice steady. “Weren’t you always telling me to stop?” Dax froze. “I’m finally listening to you,” I added. [Damn.] [That actually hurts.] [He spent all this time telling her to stop, and now he is realizing she actually did.] Dax stared at me, the usual cold calm in his eyes completely shattered. He opened his mouth to speak. But from a distance, a voice called out, “Dax!” Isla was standing under a streetlight, holding her phone. “Did you leave your keys in my bag?” Dax looked back. I took a step backward. “Go ahead.” He did not move. I gave him a small smile. “My dorm is close by.” With that, I turned and walked away. This time, he did not follow. Behind me, I heard Isla catch up to him. I heard her ask, “Did you two have a fight?” Dax did not answer. I quickened my pace. At least I had walked away first. I had not let it reach the point where he would tell me to stop in front of a crowd. I had saved some of my dignity. 4 Over the next few days, I became an expert at keeping my distance. When we met, I called him Dax. My texts were strictly about coursework. When he saved me a seat, I said thank you. When he asked to get food, I told him my roommate was waiting. When he offered me a drink, I declined. At first, Dax would scowl. But as the days went on, he grew quieter and quieter. I figured he would get used to it soon. After all, having one less person constantly teasing him and calling him husband should have been a relief. But Tessa could not stand it anymore. While I was brushing my teeth, she snatched my phone. “What is going on with you two?” I wiped my face with a towel. “Nothing.” “Nothing? Dax sent you eleven texts, and every single one of your replies reads like an official university announcement.” I reached out. “Give me my phone.” Instead of handing it over, Tessa read aloud. “Dax: I can grab you breakfast before our 8 AM class tomorrow.” “You: No need to trouble yourself, I’ll get something on my way. Thanks.” “Dax: I thought you hated the dining hall eggs.” “You: I eat them now.” Tessa looked up at me. “Sadie, you eat dining hall eggs now?” I stayed silent. She scoffed. “Just yesterday you said those eggs smelled like a midlife crisis.” “…” Tessa kept reading. “Dax: Are we still going to the movie on Saturday?” “You: I can’t go, I need to work on my paper.” She slammed the phone onto the desk. “Didn’t you buy those tickets two weeks ago? You literally said you wanted to watch it with your future boyfriend.” “I said future boyfriend,” I mumbled. “I didn’t say it was him.” Tessa looked like she wanted to shake some sense into me. “Sadie, cut the crap.” I looked down, saying nothing. [The side character is officially exiting the stage.] [This is graceful. At least there is no big dramatic scene.] [But his mood has been terrible lately, even Isla noticed.] My chest tightened. Tessa suddenly said, “Isla came to find me today.” I froze. “To find you?” “Yeah. She asked if you were misunderstanding something.” Tessa leaned against the desk, crossing her arms. “She said she and Dax aren’t like that. She only came back to catch up on classes. She also said Dax looks like he is going through a devastating breakup.” My heart skipped a beat, but I quickly forced the feeling down. “She’s probably just joking.” “I don’t think so,” Tessa said. “And do you think he is enjoying the peace? He was watching you sit next to someone else in the library today, looking like he was about to snap his pen in half.” “I was sitting next to a project partner,” I protested. “A guy.” “It was schoolwork.” “You wouldn’t have cared about schoolwork before.” She was right. Before, if Dax had sat next to another girl, I would have slid right in next to them with a grin. Am I interrupting your chat with this pretty girl, Dax? He would blush and tell me to stop playing around, and I would sit right beside him anyway. Now, I did not play around anymore. I did not have the right to. I took my phone back. Dax’s latest message was still on the screen. “Are you free tomorrow? I want to talk.” I stared at the words for a long time before replying. “Sure.” I hesitated, then added: “Dax.” The screen immediately showed “typing…” but it took a long time before a single word came back. “Okay.”

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1 For three years, Ryan loved bragging to his friends about how I was his ultimate partner-in-crime. Gym sessions, backpacking trips, city exploration, if he wanted to do it, I made it happen. His friends always said, “Ryan hit the jackpot. Dating Nora is like having a premium black-card membership.” Until his childhood best friend, Kayla, came back to the country. She wanted to try the trendy glamping style. Without a second thought, Ryan forwarded her the detailed itinerary I had spent an entire week planning. She wanted to see my favorite band. Ryan swiped the pit tickets I had spent three grueling hours trying to get. “You can just buy tickets for the next tour,” he reasoned. “Kayla barely gets to visit.” Then came the engagement party prep. I spent two weeks running errands with his mother, even paying fifteen thousand dollars out of my own pocket to cover the budget gap. But when the digital invitations went out in our group chat, the bride’s name was left completely blank. Instead, Kayla posted a selfie in the chat wearing the exact white dress I had chosen. Ryan’s mom said I look like the bride-to-be in this. This is so awkward, she wrote. Ryan replied with a laughing emoji. Then he sent me a private message: Don’t overthink it. They’re just teasing. I know you’re mature enough not to make a big deal out of it. The day before the engagement party, Ryan asked me to share my Google Calendar access with Kayla. “She’s going to be helping out with a lot of stuff from now on. It’ll make coordination easier.” I unlocked my phone, opened the app, and revoked his access entirely. Within seconds, my phone lit up with his call. “Nora, what is this?” I let out a soft laugh. “Your premium membership has expired, Ryan. I’m not renewing.” “What are you throwing a tantrum about now?” his voice flared with irritation. “It’s just calendar access. Why do you have to blow everything out of proportion and threaten to break up?” In the background, I heard Kayla’s voice, hushed but perfectly audible. “Ryan, is Nora mad at me? Oh god, this is my fault. I shouldn’t have asked to see your schedule. I just thought it would be easier for us to plan hangouts. Go talk to her, please. Don’t let me get between you two.” Ryan’s tone softened immediately. “Don’t worry, it’s not your fault. She’s just had too much free time lately and is overthinking things.” Having comforted her, he turned back to me, his voice hardening. “Did you hear that, Nora? Kayla is so considerate, always thinking of you. You’re usually such an open-minded person. Why do you get so incredibly petty the second she is involved?” Clutching the phone, I looked around the living room, taking in the warm lighting and cozy furniture I had spent months choosing. Suddenly, a wave of profound exhaustion washed over me. It all felt so utterly pointless. “Since she’s so considerate,” I said quietly, “she can have the spot. I’m stepping down as your fiancée.” Ryan’s breath hitched. “Nora, do you have any idea how exhausting you are? Kayla just got back. She has no one else here. What’s wrong with me looking out for her as a friend? If there was ever anything romantic between us, wouldn’t it have happened years ago? Do you really have to be this dramatic?” I walked over to the hallway closet and pulled out my largest suitcase. “If I wasn’t dramatic, I wouldn’t do justice to your pure, innocent friendship. The party is off, Ryan. Don’t call me again.” I hung up before he could reply and began packing my clothes. Mid-fold, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find Kyle, one of Ryan’s closest friends. He stared at the suitcase in my hand, catching his breath. “Nora? What’s going on here?” “Moving out,” I replied flatly. Kyle frowned, stepping forward. “Are you serious right now? Ryan posted in the group chat saying you were throwing a fit and threatening to walk out, but I thought he was joking. Come on, don’t do this. Give him a way out. Kayla just got back, and we all grew up together. It’s natural for him to look after her. Why are you picking a fight over his childhood friend?” I looked at his self-righteous expression. “If she’s everyone’s sister, why don’t you go take care of her?” Kyle stammered, caught off guard. “That’s different, Nora. Kayla and Ryan have always been the closest. Besides, you’re about to marry the guy. Can’t you show a little grace? If you actually walk out of this apartment with a suitcase, where does that leave Ryan’s pride?” I pushed him out the door. “His pride is none of my business.” A short while later, the door was knocked on again. This time, it was Ryan. He held out a beautifully packaged cedarwood candle, a brand I had eyed for months. “I got this for you. I know how much you love the cedarwood scent.” I didn’t reach for it. Kayla stepped up behind him, offering a sweet smile to defuse the tension. “Ryan really loves you, Nora. You shouldn’t make mountains out of molehills.” Ryan’s brow furrowed. “Just take it.” Three years ago, he gave me my first cedarwood candle, telling me he wanted my room to smell like his favorite scent. Now, that same aroma made me sick to my stomach. I stepped back, leaving the door open. “Come in.” Kayla followed him inside, her eyes scanning the living room. On the coffee table lay a printed copy of the venue contract, alongside a thick planner. The cover of the planner was worn white at the edges. Tucked inside were the floor plans for the engagement hall, catering quotes, tasting notes, and a handwritten seating chart I had revised countless times. On the very first page, there was a custom sticker I had bought: Nora & Ryan, Day 1096. She reached out and picked it up. “Oh, this notebook is adorable. Mind if I look?” Before I could say a word, Ryan waved a hand. “Go ahead. It’s just the schedule details anyway.” Kayla flipped through the pages, her finger lingering on the sticker on the first page. She let out a soft gasp. “Wow, I didn’t realize you guys were so sentimental.” She kept flipping. “Actually, this floor plan is perfect. I want to film a vlog tomorrow showing the setup to the entrance. Nora, you color-coded this so beautifully.” She whipped out her phone and lined up a shot. I placed my hand firmly over the page. “Don’t photograph it.” Kayla blinked, quickly pulling her phone back. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was private.” Ryan’s frown deepened. “Nora, it’s just a planning book. Letting her take a picture would make things run smoother tomorrow.” “It’s my book.” “And your book was made for our engagement,” he countered. He paused, perhaps realizing his voice was too sharp, and gentled his tone. “Nora, I know you’ve worked hard. Once tomorrow is over, I’ll take you to that high-end sushi place you’ve been wanting to try.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Do you honestly think this is about sushi?” A flicker of impatience crossed his face. “Then what do you want? For me to publicly cut ties with Kayla? Our families have been close for decades, and she just got back. I’m not going to treat her like a stranger.” Kayla chimed in instantly. “Ryan, please don’t fight because of me. Nora, if it bothers you that much, I don’t have to show up tomorrow.” Her eyes pooled with unshed tears. Naturally, Ryan shot me an accusatory look. “See? She’s already backing down.” “What exactly has she backed down from?” I asked. “Nora,” he said, using my full name. It was always his final warning before losing his temper. “You can’t let your insecurities run wild and expect the entire world to revolve around your mood.” A sudden weight settled in my chest, draining every ounce of energy I had left. I reached for the copies of the contracts on the table and slid them into an envelope. “The final venue deposit for tomorrow is still outstanding. Your mother asked me to cover it temporarily. I didn’t pay it.” Ryan’s face paled slightly. “Why not?” “Because it’s your family’s engagement party.” “Since when do we keep score like this?” I met his gaze. “Since now.” Kayla bit her lower lip, keeping her head low. “Is this because of me?” she whispered. Ryan’s expression turned stone cold. “Nora, making Kayla walk on eggshells and apologize to you like this, does that make you feel good?” “I didn’t ask her to apologize.” “But you’re backing her into a corner anyway.” Watching him leap to her defense, I realized the absolute futility of trying to explain myself. He placed the candle on the coffee table. “I’m not going to argue with you tonight. I’ll be downstairs at nine tomorrow morning. Get your head straight. Don’t bring this attitude to the venue.” Kayla placed the planner gently back on the table. “See you tomorrow, Nora. I won’t wear the white dress, so please don’t be upset.” At the doorway, she turned back with a faint smile. “Though, Ryan’s mom was right, white really is the prettiest color for an engagement.” The next morning, Ryan arrived downstairs. He called three times before I finally answered. “How much longer am I supposed to wait?” “I told you, I’m not coming.” He kept his voice low, suppressing his rage. “Nora, today is not the day for games. My mother is already asking where you are.” Sure enough, a call from Ryan’s mother beeped through. “Nora, sweetie, a little bickering is normal, but this is a major family event. Don’t humiliate Ryan today.” “Mrs. Harrington, I won’t be attending.” “What do you mean you won’t be attending? You booked the venue, you finalized the tasting menu. If you aren’t here, what are the guests going to think?” “My name isn’t even on the invitation.” She let out a tight, dry laugh. “That was just a printing oversight, dear. You and Ryan have been together for years. Do you really care that much about a typo?” I answered quietly, “Yes. I do.” Her tone turned cold. “Nora, girls who keep score like this don’t make good wives.” Hearing those words, a strange sense of peace washed over me. “Then don’t like me.” Ten minutes later, the lock clicked. Ryan used his spare key to burst into the apartment. “Nora, are you finished yet?” “Yes, I am. That’s why I’m leaving.” He stared at me, his eyes wide. “Over a name on a card and a dress, you’re going to throw away three years of our life?” Kayla stood just outside the open door. Pinned to her chest was a delicate white corsage, the exact custom-made piece I had ordered for myself to wear when greeting guests. She self-consciously touched the petals. “Your mom gave me this, Nora. She said it would look good on camera for the vlog. I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was yours.” Ryan turned to her. “Kayla, go wait downstairs.” She didn’t budge. “But Ryan, your mom is panicking at the venue.” The reminder snapped him back to his anger. He turned on me. “Do you hear that? Everyone is waiting on you.” Right. Everyone was waiting. Waiting for me to save a party that didn’t even have my name on the program. Waiting for me to be the sensible, accommodating girl who never made a scene. I picked up the planner from the table and handed it to him. “Everything you need is in here. Take it.” He refused to touch it. “Keep it, and get in the car.” “I’m not going.” He slammed his hand down on my suitcase. “If you walk out that door today, Nora, there’s no turning back. It’s going to get ugly.” “You think it isn’t ugly right now?” His face darkened. Kayla chimed in from the doorway. “Nora, is this about the concert tickets? I can Venmo you the money. Ryan was in a tough spot that day. I was having a hard time adjusting to being back, and he was worried about my mental state.” I stared at her. “If your mental state was so fragile, why did you need my tickets to fix it?” Her lip quivered. “Because I thought we were close enough not to keep track of things. Ryan always said you were the most understanding person he knew.” Ryan jumped in. “Nora, I’ve always cherished how different you are from other girls.” He had said those exact words before, but that time, he had tucked my cold hands into his coat pocket, telling me I never had to play nice or please anyone. “So ‘different’ just means I’m the one who’s supposed to yield?” “It’s not about yielding, it’s about boundaries,” Ryan argued, his voice dropping an octave. “Kayla had a brutal few years abroad. Her father was incredibly sick, and she had to handle it all alone. She reached out to me because she trusts me.” “And what about me?” He looked at me as if the question itself was absurd. “You’re my girlfriend. Of course you’re different.” “How?” He had no answer. From the door, Kayla checked her phone. “Ryan, the videographer just arrived.” Ryan sighed, rubbing his temples. “Nora, please don’t force me to manage your insecurities right now.” I shoved the planning book into his chest. “You don’t have to.” His fingers closed around the cover, his hand instantly wrapping around my wrist. His grip was fiercely tight. “I’ll come back tonight, and we’ll talk this through properly.” I yanked my arm free. “No need.” Clutching the planner, he finally turned and left with Kayla. The front door clicked shut. I sat on the hardwood floor, staring at the empty space. I unlocked my phone and dialed a contact I hadn’t messaged in a long time. Hi, David. I need to consult you on recovering shared premarital expenses and cash advances. His reply was swift. Send over the documentation. Also, that out-of-state transfer opportunity you mentioned last time? The confirmation window closes this afternoon. I stared at the text. My thumbs flew over the screen. I’m in. Confirm my transfer. When I arrived at the hotel, the rehearsal was already underway. The event coordinator had contacted me, warning me that since my signature was on the secondary vendor sheets, any breach of contract or delay fees would fall squarely on my shoulders. I walked into the ballroom to find Kayla holding my planner, directing the videographer. “We’ll shoot a quick clip of me adjusting the floral arrangements here. Then, when Ryan walks in from the side, I’ll hand him the bouquet.” I walked up to them. Kayla froze mid-sentence. “Nora, you made it.” Ryan’s shoulders visibly dropped with relief when he spotted me. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” His mother hurried over, taking my hand in hers. “Thank goodness. A little pre-wedding jitter is fine, but we have a schedule to keep.” I pulled my hand out of her grip. “I’m only here to clarify liability. The primary contract for this venue is under Ryan’s name, not mine.” Mrs. Harrington’s face soured. “Nora, do you have to be so difficult today?” A few relatives nearby began to whisper, turning their heads. Kayla quickly stepped in, her voice trembling. “Mrs. Harrington, Nora is probably still upset with me. Maybe I should leave so I don’t ruin this for everyone.” Yet, her hands remained tightly wrapped around the bridal bouquet. “Kayla, stay, you’ve been such a help today,” an aunt chimed in. “Nora, you really need to be more gracious. Ryan has spoiled you. Throwing a fit on your own engagement day is just childish.” Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nora, let’s talk in the dressing room.” “We can say it right here.” Kayla suddenly thrust the bouquet toward me. “Nora, here. You should hold this. Your mom only had me stand in for the rehearsal because we were worried the delay would ruin the schedule.” I looked down at the flowers. Wrapped around the stems was a faded mint-green ribbon. It had been salvaged from the bookmark of my old journal. Three years ago, on a freezing winter night when Ryan’s first business went under and we couldn’t even afford rent, he had tied that very ribbon around my ring finger. With tear-filled eyes, he had whispered, Nora, on the day of our engagement, I will replace this with the biggest diamond I can find. I reached out, untied the mint ribbon, and slipped it into my pocket. “Keep the flowers.” Kayla stood frozen. His mother finally snapped. “Nora, what is wrong with you? This party is a reflection of our family’s social standing. If you have grievances, air them behind closed doors. Stop publicly humiliating my son.” I looked directly at Ryan. “Is that what you think too?” Ryan avoided my eyes, looking down. “Nora, let’s just get through the ceremony first. I’ll explain the name thing on stage. I have a plan.” Kayla tugged gently at his sleeve. “Ryan, maybe we should skip it. That segment was supposed to be a surprise, but with Nora in this state, she might not appreciate the humor.” A surprise. The word clicked in my head. I walked straight past them to the AV control booth and booted up the presentation slides on the laptop. I clicked to the third slide: Special Thanks: Nora, for three years of companionship, witnessing the beautiful bond of friendship and love. Next slide: Fiancée Candidate Game: Kayla. I clicked through the deck. It was a mock game show. Ryan was supposed to pull cards to choose between Kayla and me, building up fake suspense before dramatically declaring, “Of course, the real bride-to-be is Nora.” A small note at the bottom read: Create initial tension for maximum dramatic effect. Nora must play along. I looked back at Ryan. The color had completely drained from his face. “The emcee suggested that bit. I hadn’t officially signed off on it yet.” “Nora, please don’t be mad,” Kayla blurted out. “I told them it was a bad idea, but everyone kept saying how easygoing you are. We thought you’d find it funny.” Ryan lunged forward to shut down the laptop screen. “Nora, close it.” I stepped back, out of his reach. “Did you know about this?” Silence. Kayla lowered her head, her voice shaking. “Ryan didn’t know the specifics. I coordinated it with the emcee. If you want to blame someone, blame me.” Ryan finally spoke, his voice strained. “I figured the big reveal at the end would make the final toast even more special. The game was just to get the crowd warmed up.” I nodded slowly. “So you decided to make me a laughingstock first.” “It’s not like that,” he said, stepping closer, desperate. “Nora, I wanted to give you a day you’d never forget.” I reached into my bag, pulled out a printed ledger, and slammed it onto the control desk. “This is the itemized list of every expense I’ve covered for you over the last three years. It totals forty-two thousand dollars. My lawyer has already received the copy.” He stared at the papers, completely dumbfounded. “Three years together, and you’re turning it into a business transaction?” I didn’t bother replying. I turned on my heel and walked toward the exit. He chased after me, grabbing my wrist with a crushing grip. “Nora, don’t you dare walk out of here!” “I’ve been playing along for three years,” I said, peeling his fingers off my wrist, one by one. “The schedule is yours, the bill is yours, and the spot next to you is hers.” As I walked away without looking back, Ryan stared at my retreating figure, a cold wave of panic finally settling deep in his chest.

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I was famous for being the ultimate good girl in our city’s elite social circle, but I had still managed to pull off three incredibly reckless stunts. First, dating the notorious playboy, Dominic. Second, proposing to him. Third, getting brutally dumped by him. Today, I added a fourth to the list: I ended up in a hotel bed with my blind date. And now, there is a fifth. The hotel belongs to Dominic. 1 I never imagined that seeing Dominic again would happen under these circumstances. Outside the elevator doors, he stood with his arm wrapped tightly around his new flame, his face dark and icy. The guys standing behind him were entirely frozen, their jaws practically on the floor. Inside the elevator, my legs were weak as my blind date pressed me firmly against the wall, taking my mouth in a deep, bruising kiss. “Holy shit…” Someone in Dominic’s group couldn’t help but let out a shocked whisper before quickly shutting his mouth, casting an awkward glance at Dominic. After all, the fact that Dominic and I had been together for three years was hardly a secret. “Hah.” Dominic tightened his grip on his new girl’s waist, looking at the two of us as we finally parted. He let out a low, mocking scoff, then raised an eyebrow, his face darkening further. “Aren’t you two coming out? Or do you plan on putting on a live show right there in the elevator?” Embarrassment flooded my senses. My ears burned hot enough to bleed, and the haze of the alcohol in my system instantly cleared. I quickly grabbed my date’s hand and pulled him out of the elevator. We stepped out as they stepped in. As we brushed past each other, I kept my eyes glued to the floor. A sharp, suffocating ache wrapped around my heart like a tightening net, squeezing until it was hard to breathe. But just as I took a step forward to leave, a loud sneer echoed from behind me. “Man, Dominic, your ex plays dirty. If she’d been this wild when she was with you, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten bored so fast.” 2 Bored. My entire body went rigid. The invisible net tightened, carving deep into my chest until it bled. Dominic and I had once been the most unexpected couple in high society. He was the wild heir, a reckless playboy who treated the world like his personal playground. I was the quiet, obedient daughter who followed every rule to the letter. No one expected Dominic to pursue me so publicly. For my sake, he claimed to have settled down. He tried to be good, spent fortunes to make me smile, and once even drove across the state in the middle of the night just to buy the lemon tarts I said I wanted. For three years, he took care of me with an intensity that made me believe the myth. I truly thought the playboy had reformed, and that he loved me. Until a proposal two months ago shattered my beautiful delusion. I would never forget the room filled with red roses, the velvet box in my hand, and the sheer joy in my chest as I waited for him to come home. But when the front door opened, I was met with the sight of Dominic wrapped around a beautiful girl, kissing her with a desperate hunger. They couldn’t even wait to get to the bedroom, tearing at each other’s clothes right there in the hallway. When Dominic finally noticed the lights were on, his eyes narrowed. He shielded the girl in his arms and stared at me, momentarily stunned. “Daphne? I thought you were in Chicago for your violin performance. Why are you…” His eyes swept over the carefully decorated room, finally landing on the banner hanging on the wall: Marry me, I say yes. Dominic frowned. When he looked back at me, the warmth in his eyes was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, mocking amusement. “Well, looks like the secret is out,” he said, sounding more annoyed than guilty. “Honestly, it’s probably for the best. I was getting pretty tired of playing the reformed playboy anyway.” 3 Tears spilled over my cheeks. I clenched my fists, my voice trembling as I struggled to process his words. “Why?” Dominic pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a sharp, frigid laugh. “Because you are just so incredibly boring, Daphne. I got tired of you a long time ago.” Boring? Tired of me? I stared at him in utter disbelief, the pain temporarily eclipsed by shock. “If you were tired of me, why didn’t you just say so?” We weren’t together for three days. It had been three years. If he wanted to break up, I wasn’t the type to beg or cling to him. Why did he have to drag it out and humiliate me like this? Dominic shrugged, his arrogant expression unchanged, but he felt like a complete stranger. “I needed a girlfriend who was quiet, low-maintenance, and respectable to keep my family and the company board off my back. You fit the bill perfectly.” He needed me. So his entire pursuit, his three years of perfect devotion, had just been a well-orchestrated act to satisfy his family? “But now,” Dominic looked around the room at my proposal decorations, letting out a soft sigh, “it seems you’re a bit too needy to just be a pretty ornament on the shelf. You think a little affection means we’re bound for life. That’s way too much drama. If we got married, your expectations would only get worse.” “Exactly,” the girl in his arms chimed in, throwing a contemptuous look my way. “Dominic, didn’t I tell you I’m much better? If you want the quiet girl act, I can do that too, and I promise I’m way more exciting than her. Congrats on getting your freedom back.” She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. Dominic hesitated for a fraction of a second, his eyes sliding over to me. Then, he cupped the back of her head and dragged her into a deeper kiss. In the silent apartment, the only sound was the wet, desperate noise of their lips parting and meeting. I began to laugh through my tears, remembering what my best friend, Gemma, had warned me when we first started dating. A playboy might settle down, Daphne, but never believe he’s doing it for you. The worst thing you can do is give your whole heart to a man who is only acting on a whim. If you do, you’ll lose everything. She was right. He acted on a whim, and I lost everything. “Oh, is this the ex?” Back in the elevator, the woman in Dominic’s arms let out a sharp, mocking gasp. “An elevator show? How wild. Dominic, how could you ever bring yourself to break up with someone this exciting?” Dominic’s dark eyes locked onto mine as he tightened his grip on her waist, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “She’s a dead fish in bed, babe. No matter how much she tries to wiggle now, she’s still a bore.” 4 All the color drained from my face. For all my education, I found myself entirely speechless in the face of such crude humiliation. My hands clenched into tight fists. For a split second, I wanted to turn around and slap him. But then, a warm arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me into a firm chest. The man who had been standing silently beside me squeezed my shoulder, leaning down to murmur in my ear. “Do you want me to carry you?” I gasped slightly, trying to blink back the tears. Before I could answer, Dominic’s deep, irritated voice cut through the air from the elevator. “You two. Your room tonight is on the house.” My date tightened his grip on my shoulder, turning around to look at Dominic with a calm, challenging smile. “Oh?” Dominic didn’t look at him. His eyes were pinned entirely on me, dark and storming. “Daphne was with me for three years, after all. Since you’re staying at my hotel, consider it a professional courtesy. I’ll even have some toys sent up to your room to help you out, since her skills are so basic, I doubt you’ll have a very satisfying night without them.” A round of mean laughter erupted from the guys in the elevator. My face burned with humiliation. We had never even slept together, so where was he getting these disgusting lies from? “You! We never even—” “Thank you for the offer,” my date cut in, his tone remarkably smooth and unaffected. But his next words made the entire lobby go dead silent. “But instead of relying on someone else’s old habits, I’d much rather take my time teaching Daphne myself. We have our whole lives ahead of us to learn. You, on the other hand, won’t ever get that chance again.” Dominic’s eyes flared with anger. His fists clenched, and he took a menacing step forward, but the elevator doors slowly slid shut, cutting him off. 5 Even after we swiped the card and entered the room, my face was still burning hot. That entire exchange had been incredibly intense. This man, who had seemed so gentle, polite, and refined during our blind date, was suddenly speaking with such quiet, dangerous confidence. The bathroom door clicked open. Sebastian stepped out, his hair damp and messy. His white dress shirt was completely soaked, clinging to his skin and outlining the sharp shape of his muscles. I quickly averted my eyes, staring intently at a flower vase nearby. Sebastian sat down on the sofa across from me, his face slightly pale. “I apologize for my behavior in the elevator, Daphne. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” I shook my head quickly. “No, please don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong, you were just dragged into my mess.” If I hadn’t made the stupid decision to suggest a quiet lounge for our blind date just to prove I wasn’t “boring,” we wouldn’t have ended up here. I hadn’t realized someone would slip something into my drink. Because I didn’t really drink, Sebastian had noticed the cocktail looked incredibly strong and swapped glasses with me. He had taken the hit for me. In my panic, I had just wanted to find the nearest hotel so he could take a cold shower. I hadn’t even realized the establishment belonged to Dominic’s family. “I’m so sorry, Sebastian. This has to be the worst blind date in history.” Sebastian rubbed his hair with a towel, his dark eyes fixed on the floor as his lips curved into a soft, amused smile. “It was definitely eventful.” 6 In the hotel lobby. Dominic walked out of the elevator, his expression murderous. The friends following him didn’t seem to notice his foul mood, clapping him on the shoulder with a laugh. “Man, who knew Daphne had that in her? She’s not just a pretty girl who plays the violin. Honestly, a good girl who does whatever you teach her sounds kind of hot. That guy looked like he had money, though. They’re probably tearing up the sheets right now…” A loud crash echoed through the lobby as Dominic kicked a metal trash can over. He shoved his new girl away, his knuckles white as his chest heaved. With a low curse, he turned around and slammed his hand against the elevator button. The doors opened immediately. His friends stared in shock as Dominic stepped back inside, aggressively slamming the door-close button as if the panel owed him money. “Is he really that pissed?” Marcus, Dominic’s childhood friend, stared at the closed doors with a frown. He asked a quiet, unrelated question. “Have you guys noticed that Dominic has been acting completely off for the last two months?” The others blinked. “Off? How?” Since the breakup, Dominic had jumped right back into his old lifestyle: drinking, racing, partying with different girls. He was the same old playboy. Well, except for the times he would stare blankly at his phone for hours. But that was about it. In the elevator, Dominic stared at the rising numbers, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth clicked. He slammed his fist against the wall, his voice a low growl. “Daphne, don’t you dare.” 7 Sebastian had to take another cold shower. The good news was the drugs were finally leaving his system. The bad news was he was completely exhausted. A loud thud from the bathroom startled me. Forgetting all propriety, I rushed inside. Sebastian was sitting on the tiled floor, one knee pulled up, leaning against the wet wall. The cold water was still spraying over him, and he looked up through the mist, offering a helpless, apologetic smile. “I ran out of energy. I’m sorry.” In that moment, he looked exactly like a sad, soaked golden retriever. His dark eyes were wide and vulnerable, melting away any awkwardness I felt. I quickly turned off the water and helped him up, letting him lean his weight against me. The icy temperature of his skin shocked me. It was winter, and soaking in cold water like this was a guaranteed way to get pneumonia. “Here,” I grabbed a large towel from the rack, standing on my tiptoes to wrap it around him. But as I pulled the towel tight, the height difference worked against me. The fabric caught, pulling Sebastian forward. Our bodies collided, leaving zero space between us. Our noses brushed, and we both froze. Sebastian was nearly a head taller than me, but he stood perfectly still, looking down at me with an intense, unreadable gaze. Water droplets rolled down his sharp jawline, dripping onto my collarbone and wetting my shirt. The air in the room grew thick and heavy. “What? Are you two planning on putting on a bathroom show next?” A cold, sarcastic voice cut through the silence from the doorway. Startled, I immediately let go of the towel and stepped back. Dominic stood at the entrance of the bathroom, holding a master keycard in his hand. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes burning with a dark, suppressed fury as he stared at us. 8 Sebastian’s brow furrowed, but he remained far calmer than I was. He took a step forward, shielding me behind his broad frame, and looked at Dominic with a cool smile. “Did you come up here to deliver those toys yourself, Dominic?” “Of course.” Dominic let out a harsh laugh, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. His expression was dripping with arrogance. “Maybe I should just join you two? I can guarantee you’ll have the absolute ride of your lives.” Anger finally flared in my chest. “Dominic, are you insane?” Why was he doing this? Was he just trying to ruin my life, or did he enjoy humiliating me? Dominic’s eyes locked onto mine, dark and dangerous. “I thought you wanted something exciting? This seems perfect. But speaking of insane…” He walked slowly into the bathroom, looking Sebastian up and down with blatant contempt. “Hey mate, how much do you charge for a night? Are you clean? Have you been tested? I might play dirty, but I don’t touch trash. How about I pay for your medical exam first?” I was completely speechless. “Dominic, you need to get your head checked.” Humiliating me in the lobby wasn’t enough; he had to follow us to our room to insult Sebastian? He was acting as if I had cheated on him. “It seems,” Sebastian said with a quiet chuckle, his tone perfectly conversational, “that you’ve mistaken my profession. Let me introduce myself. I am Sebastian Sinclair, CEO of the Sinclair Group. I am the blind date Daphne’s grandmother personally selected for her.” 9 Sebastian’s words were quiet, but they carried an immense weight. The Sinclair Group had primarily operated overseas until recently, which was why Sebastian wasn’t widely recognized in our local social circles yet. But the mention of “Daphne’s grandmother” was enough to prove his pedigree. She would never select anyone but the best for me. Dominic froze. The arrogant confidence he had walked in with evaporated the moment he realized Sebastian wasn’t some cheap escort he could bully. “A blind date?” Dominic turned his gaze back to me, his eyes tight with a desperate, tense energy. “You went on a blind date? And you came straight to a hotel with him? You actually like him?” I didn’t even bother to answer. What I did with my life was none of his business. Did our breakup come with a lifetime surveillance package? “Speak!” Dominic’s voice cracked with a dark intensity. “Do you like him?” “Yes, I do,” I snapped, entirely done with him. “Now, can you please get the hell out of our room?” Dominic’s fists clenched so hard his knuckles popped, and for a second, I thought he was going to swing at Sebastian. But he just stared at me for a few agonizing seconds before letting out a rough, bitter laugh. “Fine. You’ve grown a spine, Daphne. But remember, this hotel is mine. If anyone is leaving, it’s the two of you.” He offered me a dark, twisted smirk. He was entirely serious. I was so angry I couldn’t even speak. I was so consumed by fury that I completely missed the dark, desperate storm brewing in his eyes. 10 Sebastian was still too weak to drive, so his assistant came to pick him up. I stood by the car door, feeling incredibly guilty as I waved goodbye. “Sebastian, I am so incredibly sorry. Goodbye.” Sebastian leaned against the leather seat, offering a warm, reassuring smile. “Goodbye, Daphne.” I watched the car pull away, knowing deep down that “goodbye” probably meant we would never see each other again. Who would want to go on a second date after a disaster like this? Getting kicked out of a hotel by your date’s ex-boyfriend was a story for the history books. Sighing, I pulled out my phone and opened Sebastian’s contact info, typing out a message. Sebastian, I am so… I paused. I had said “sorry” so many times today that the word felt entirely cheap. “Forget it,” I muttered to myself. “It’s better to just leave it.” I turned around to head toward the main lobby of the garage to call a cab. But the moment I turned, I realized a figure was standing in the shadows behind me. I let out a sharp scream, dropping my phone. Dominic stepped out of the darkness, his face pale and cold. Before I could run, he grabbed my wrist and slammed me against the concrete pillar. His mouth fell onto mine, crushing my lips in a desperate, angry kiss. “Let go!” I struggled against his grip, but his hands were like iron. In desperation, I bit down hard on his lip. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. Dominic hissed in pain, finally pulling back, but his arms remained locked around me, pinning me to the pillar. He ignored the blood dripping down his chin, his dark eyes staring into mine with a terrifying intensity. “Did you like kissing him? Was it exciting? Is he better than me?” “Let go of me, Dominic,” I said, my voice dead and cold. Dominic let out a low, desperate laugh, the blood smeared across his lips making him look wild and dangerous. “You said you loved me. You proposed to me. How can you move on to another man so quickly?” 11 I looked at him, my eyes filled with a quiet, burning rage. “What does it matter to you?” Dominic raised an eyebrow, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. His voice was laced with a dark, trembling anger. “We were together for three years, Daphne. I can’t even ask? Is this how you’re going to treat me now?” I clenched my fists. “Ask? Dominic, you are unbelievable. You humiliate me, you insult my date, and now you’re acting like the victim? Are you worried I’ll become too much of a bother again?” Dominic froze, his expression tightening. Then, he let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Is this your way of playing hard to get, Daphne? Are you doing all of this just to get my attention?” I stared at him, finding his arrogance almost pathetic. “You really need to get your head checked, Dominic. Your narcissism is a disease.” Dominic’s eyes narrowed. “Daphne, don’t push this too far.” “I was always boring to you, wasn’t I?” I smiled coldly. “Go enjoy your precious freedom. Our little show ended a long time ago.” I gave him one last look, a look filled with absolute disgust, and walked away without turning back. Behind me, Dominic watched my figure disappear into the shadows of the garage. For the first time, a flicker of confusion appeared in his eyes, followed by a sudden, terrifying panic that he couldn’t quite comprehend.

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1 On our eighth anniversary, Lauren claimed she was working late. An hour later, I saw her live-streaming a wedding. Radiant in red, she exchanged vows with my mother’s illegitimate son on a lavish altar. “Wesley is my forever,” she told the camera. I stormed the venue, but she met me with cold indifference. “He has depression. It’s just a therapeutic ceremony,” she sighed. I choked out that his father had driven mine to suicide. She sneered, calling me selfish and accusing me of weaponizing grief. Shattered, I climbed to the roof’s edge. Just as I teetered, my phone rang with a video call from my eighteen-year-old self. Bright-eyed, he grinned. “Future me! How many kids do you and Lauren have?” I numbly turned the camera toward the courtyard, where Lauren kissed Wesley deeply. His face blanched. “Past me,” I whispered, voice breaking, “whatever you do… don’t marry her.” … “My Lauren… why…” His lips trembled violently, unable to process the sight. I had no comfort to offer. My own heart was being slowly shredded to pieces. “This is the reality,” I said, my voice dry and hollow. “Right before you called, I was about to jump.” On the screen, my younger self stared at me with wide, horrified eyes. “How can that be? We are strong. We survived so much.” I let out a bitter, exhausted laugh. “Maybe the people we love the deepest are the ones who can cut us the sharpest. Gary, I’m begging you. Don’t marry her.” He looked entirely lost, his hands hovering over his camera. “But she isn’t even with me right now. She went to find a way to get the money to pay off my debts.” A wave of memory washed over me. Back then, my father had been driven to ruin and death by my mother and her lover’s joint scheme. They had run off with a massive life insurance payout, leaving me with a mountain of predatory debt. Their son, Wesley, had come with loan sharks, smashing up my tiny apartment and breaking my right hand, laughing as I screamed in agony. Just as he was about to slice my face open with a blade, Lauren had thrown herself over my body. “I’ll pay his debt in three days,” she had screamed at them. “Now get the hell out! If anyone touches him, I’ll kill you!” Her fragile shoulders had shielded me from the entire world. Later, I discovered she had raised the cash by selling her blood and plasma at shady, unregulated underground clinics. I had held her close, weeping with guilt and gratitude. But she had simply smiled, proudly showing me her needle-scarred arms. “This is the proof that I protect you,” she had whispered. “It’s my badge of honor for life.” But today, her protection belonged to someone else. “Do you see the groom on the stage?” I asked, my smile cold and self-deprecating. “That’s Wesley.” The younger Gary grew paler, tears spilling down his cheeks. “So… she ended up with the monster who broke my hand?” Before I could answer, Lauren’s voice drifted over. I quickly slipped the phone into my pocket. She noticed my sudden movement and frowned, though she didn’t care enough to investigate. “How long are you going to keep throwing this tantrum?” she asked, her tone heavy with irritation. “Stop acting like a bitter housewife, obsessing over every little thing.” When I didn’t respond, her voice turned even colder. “Wesley was young back then. He was just messing around and took things too far. He knows he was wrong, and his guilt literally drove him into depression. What more do you want? He is practically your brother. Do you really have to drive him to suicide to be satisfied?” She looked at me, a woman I had loved for eight years, yet she felt entirely like a stranger. “Wesley is happy today,” she continued, grabbing my arm. “As his older brother, you should go over and toast him.” Ignoring my silent resistance, she dragged me toward the banquet hall. Through my hidden earpiece, the younger Gary was sobbing hysterically. “That’s not Lauren… that’s not her…” I walked like a hollow puppet, my body moving on instinct. I wanted to scream, to cry, but my tears had run dry years ago. The banquet hall was packed with Wesley’s friends. The moment I entered, a wave of whispers, snickers, and mocking glances swept through the room. I stood there like a circus clown, pinned in place by Lauren’s tight grip, enduring their quiet amusement. “Bro, thank you for coming to my wedding.” Wesley walked over, looking smug in his white groom’s suit. He suddenly paused, covering his mouth as if he had said something wrong, his eyes glistening with crocodile tears. “Oh, I’m so sorry, bro. Please don’t misunderstand Lauren and me. She’s just helping with my therapy, holding a fake wedding to cheer me up.” Looking at the triumphant gleam in his eyes, a wave of nausea hit me. I turned to leave, but Wesley’s smile twisted into something sinister. “How can you leave without having a drink?” He snatched a bottle of champagne and popped the cork directly in my face. A torrent of sticky, foaming alcohol sprayed over my face and head, soaking through my collar. The room erupted into roaring laughter. “Look at him, like a drowned rat!” “So pathetic. It’s disgusting.” The stinging liquid got into my eyes and throat, making me cough violently. I instinctively looked at Lauren for support, but someone kicked my foot from behind. I lost my balance, crashing hard onto the concrete step. My hand slammed against the sharp edge of the riser, and blood immediately began to pool on the floor. Lauren’s face tightened. She took a step toward me, but Wesley immediately let out a loud, pathetic sob. “It’s all my fault. I’m so clumsy. I shouldn’t even be alive.” Hearing his whimpers, Lauren froze. She retracted her foot, turning back to pat Wesley’s shoulder gently. “Don’t blame yourself, sweetie. He did it on purpose just to ruin your day. It has nothing to do with you.” Then, she turned a freezing gaze back onto me. “Gary, are you doing this on purpose? Creating this disgusting scene just to make Wesley feel guilty? How can you be so malicious? Apologize to him right now!” I looked at her, my vision blurred by blood and champagne, and smiled softly. “Yes, I am malicious. I won’t ruin your special day anymore.” I got up, turned, and walked away. Lauren looked panicked for a split second. She wanted to call out to me, but her friends quickly pulled her back into the center of the crowd. I patched up my cut in the restroom. When I came out, I saw Lauren and Wesley playing a wedding game, attempting to bite a suspended apple together. The apple slipped, and their lips met in a deep, lingering kiss. The crowd erupted in cheers and wolf whistles. I stood in the shadows, looking like a thief peering into someone else’s joy. As if sensing my presence, Lauren suddenly pulled back. Her lips were still wet, and a flicker of guilt crossed her face before she quickly masked it with a light chuckle. “Don’t get the wrong idea. It’s just a game. Don’t be so petty.” She walked over and tried to take my hand. “It’s late. Let’s go home together.” But Wesley clung to her arm, his voice small and needy. “Lauren, my head is spinning. I feel dizzy.” Lauren immediately turned to support him, looking at me with an apologetic shrug. “I’ll help Wesley sober up first. You go on…” I didn’t even look at her. I simply walked past them and out of the venue. “I’ll be right behind you,” she called out. “Wait for me at the entrance.” The venue was in the secluded suburbs, and finding a ride was impossible. I walked for four hours in the pitch black, arriving home just as dawn was breaking. Unsurprisingly, she never caught up. In my pocket, the quiet crying from my younger self hadn’t stopped. “My Lauren would never let me walk alone in the dark,” he whispered, his voice broken. “She would walk with me through any storm.” I looked around the dark, empty living room. “Now, she has someone more important to accompany.” The phone remained silent for a long time, so long that I thought the connection had failed. Then, a cracked, resolute voice came through. “There are still two days before she returns. I will use this time to end things with her forever.” Back in the guest room, I pulled out my suitcase and began packing. My younger self asked quietly, “Are you sleeping in separate rooms? For how long?” I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat. “A year and a half.” The distance began when she hired Wesley as her personal assistant. When I objected to my tormentor being near my wife, we had our first major screaming match. “I just respect his professional talent!” she had yelled. “Can you stop bringing your personal drama into my work like a lunatic?” I had asked for a divorce that night. She had fallen to her knees, weeping and begging me to stay, swearing they were nothing but colleagues. I had softened, believing her promise that she would let him go and never make me sad again. But Wesley stayed. And she began coming home later and later, eventually missing our wedding anniversaries entirely while taking two-week trips with him under the guise of business. She forgot my birthday but kept a detailed schedule of his stomach medications. Finally, one night, Wesley had video-called her, weeping that knowing she lived in the same bed with me made his clinical depression worse. The next day, Lauren threw all my clothes into the guest room, leaving me with a cold command: “Show some compassion for a sick person. You can move back when his depression improves.” The phone went quiet again. Then, my younger self murmured, “Don’t be sad. It will be over soon.” A tear slipped down my cheek. Before I could finish packing, the door was kicked open. Lauren stood there, her eyes wild with fury. She stormed over, pinning me violently against the wall. “Gary, I didn’t think you could be this pathetic! You hired people to threaten Wesley? He is your brother! Where is your goddamn humanity?!” The grip on my throat made me choke, but I stared back at her. “Lauren, are you blind? I don’t know a single soul at that venue. Who would I hire?” She hesitated, her grip loosening slightly. But then, Wesley stepped out from behind her, a fresh, red slap mark prominent on his cheek. He fell to his knees, sobbing. “Gary, you can hit me or curse me, but please don’t be mad at Lauren. She just wanted to help me. I know you hate me. I’ll just go die so I’m not in your way anymore.” I looked at his pathetic, rehearsed drama, wondering how anyone could believe it. Yet Lauren turned a look of deep disgust on me. “You are completely irrational now. Full of lies, bullying the weak. How did you turn into such a monster?” She believed him instantly. I stopped trying to argue. You can’t wake someone who is pretending to be asleep. “Lauren,” I asked quietly, “am I really the only one who changed?” We locked eyes in a silent, stubborn standoff. Finally, she shoved me away. “Gary, if I knew you’d turn into this, I would have regretted ever meeting you!” She turned and ran after Wesley. Suddenly, a flurry of footsteps and a tired but joyful voice echoed from my phone. “Gav, I’m back! I got the money!” “From now on, I will protect you through fire and water.” My body trembled, and tears streamed down my face. It had been so long since I had heard her call me “Gav” with such pure, unadulterated tenderness. “She’s back,” the younger Gary sobbed on the other end. “I can see the needle marks on her arms… it hurts so bad… we loved each other so much, why did it end up like this?” Neither of us spoke for the rest of the night. On his end, the younger Gary greeted Lauren’s triumphant smile with a cold, hollow stare. “Thanks. I’ll pay you back double.” Lauren looked hurt. “Gav, why are you talking about paying me back? I’d give you my life.” When he didn’t soften, her voice began to crack. “Don’t be like this. I’m scared.” I sat in the dark guest room all night, deleting every single photo of her from my phone. At dawn, my younger self spoke again, his voice weary but firm. “The debts are cleared. Wesley wanted to break my other hand, but Lauren chased him off with a kitchen knife. She’s looking for a doctor to fix my hand now. I also saw the ring she bought to propose to me.” “I’m not going to get my hand fixed, and I won’t accept the ring.” Hearing his decision, the heavy weight in my chest suddenly lifted. “Thank you.” I knew how agonizing that choice was for him. But it was the only way out. I rolled my suitcase out into the living room, only to find Wesley already sitting on the sofa, feeding Lauren snacks in an intimate display. He looked up at me, raising an eyebrow in silent triumph. I ignored him entirely, but Lauren grabbed my suitcase. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Now that you’ve brought him into our home,” I said coldly, “I’m clearing out to give you some space. Unless you want me to stay and ruin your fun?” Lauren’s brow furrowed with annoyance. “What fun? I never said…” “It doesn’t matter.” I pulled my hand away and kept walking. “Enough!” Lauren slammed her hand on the table, standing up. “Gary, cut it out! There is a limit to throwing tantrums! You are the one who started this mess, and now you’re running away?” She looked at me with a patronizing sigh of pity. “Do you know that threatening Wesley yesterday could get you detained? It’s only because of his generosity that you aren’t in a cell right now.” I let out a dry sneer. “Well, thank you both so very much.” Lauren kicked the trash can over, her temper flaring. “Enough! I have tolerated you for too long! Gary! Is this how you speak to your wife?!” She glared at me, her voice turning icy. “Apologize to Wesley. Now. Don’t force me to sue you for assault. Even if you’re my husband, I won’t show you favoritism.” In my ear, the sweet voice of the past Lauren drifted in. “Gav, your hand will heal soon,” she whispered softly. “Don’t be afraid. Whatever happens, I’ll be by your side. If it doesn’t heal, I’ll take care of you forever. I’ll be your right hand. Even if you want the moon, I’ll pluck it from the sky for you.” Those sweet promises from the past cut deeper than the cold fury of the woman standing before me now. My eyes grew wet. Lauren, thinking I was finally backing down, softened her tone. “Forget the kneeling. Just say sorry and we can move past this.” “In your dreams.” I grabbed my suitcase and headed for the door. Lauren flipped the coffee table in a rage. “Fine! Walk out that door, and don’t you dare think about coming back!” she screamed. Seeing that my pace didn’t falter, a sudden wave of panic flashed across her face, followed by an even deeper rage. She grabbed Wesley by the shoulder. “We already had our wedding, and we haven’t spent the night together yet! If you have any dignity left, don’t come back to disturb us!” She stared at me, tense, waiting for me to break. But I didn’t stop. “Good for you,” I said without looking back. “I hope you two are very happy together.” Her face twisted in fury. She dragged Wesley into the bedroom, slamming the door shut. Soon, loud, exaggerated sounds of passion began to echo through the apartment. I walked out, taking a cab straight to the airport. Through the phone, my younger self wept softly. “I didn’t get the surgery. I ran away. I blocked her number.” As he sobbed, the memories in my mind began to blur, rewrite, and fade. Suddenly, the world spun violently out of control.

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1 At the arcade, I stepped back to buy tokens, glancing at my phone. When I looked up, Logan and Natalie were gone. Balancing two water bottles and their jackets, I pushed through the crowd. I stopped before a nearby photo booth. The curtain hung slightly open. As the flash popped, I saw them clearly. Logan wore pink bunny ears, leaning into Natalie as they shaped a heart with their hands. They looked like stars in a teen romance film. Five minutes earlier, I’d offered him those same ears. He’d brushed me off, annoyed. Childish, he’d said. Only idiots wear that stuff. It wasn’t the headband he hated. It was me. I didn’t open the curtain. I left their things on a trash can. Over the loudspeakers, a bright pop song played as I turned and walked toward the exit. I was done playing the background character. The sun hadn’t fully set by the time I walked out of the amusement park gates. The colorful lights along the entrance flickered on one by one, illuminating the laughing faces of the people streaming inside. I was the only one moving in the opposite direction, wading against the tide of the crowd. My hands were empty now. My chest felt just as hollow, as if someone had carved a piece right out of me. Instead of calling a cab, I took the slowest bus home. The vehicle swayed and rattled violently over the asphalt. Leaning my head against the cool window pane, I watched my own reflection in the glass. My eyes were bloodshot. But I didn’t cry. I only remembered the way I had held out those bunny ears to Logan in front of the claw machines. I had smiled, begging him, Just wear them for a second, please? Just once. He hadn’t even spared them a glance, turning his face away instantly. Grow up, Autumn. Why do you always care so much about these pointless things? Yet only minutes later, he had lowered his head, letting Natalie slip the exact same headband over his hair. It wasn’t the headband that was pointless. It was me. During our high school homecoming festival, I had bought an absurdly oversized headband too. The school field had been packed with people that day. I had chased him all over the grass, waving the silly accessory in the air. Even though he complained about how embarrassing it was, he still bent down, letting me adjust it on his head. When our classmates started teasing him, he simply tapped my forehead with his knuckles. Don’t buy something this ugly next time. But he kept it on until the festival ended. I had truly believed that was love. Now I understood that even the sweetest indulgence could expire. People changed. When I unlocked the front door of my house, the warm scent of pot roast drifted from the kitchen. My mother peeked out from the doorway, a bright smile on her face. “You’re back? Where’s Logan?” My hands paused as I kicked off my shoes. Tonight was supposed to be the first time Logan formally came over to have dinner with my parents. I had told him about it three days in advance, and my father had even canceled his evening business meeting just to be home. But now, the dining table sat quiet. I looked down, carefully aligning my shoes side by side. “He probably has some things to take care of. He’ll be late.” My mother’s smile softened, her voice dropping to a gentle murmur. “What’s wrong? Did you two have a fight?” I shook my head, telling her it was nothing. Truthfully, I didn’t even know if this counted as a fight. I was just suddenly so exhausted that even anger felt like an unnecessary luxury. We waited until nine in the evening. The food on the table was reheated, and then it went cold again. My father glanced toward the front door several times, but in the end, he didn’t say a word. When the doorbell finally rang, my mother visibly let out a breath of relief. Logan stood on the porch, the chill of the night wind clinging to his jacket. As soon as he stepped inside, he reached out and touched my forehead. “Why are you so pale?” The gesture was so natural, so practiced. A sharp ache flared in my chest, and I almost let myself be fooled by the familiar warmth of his touch. But in the next second, he pulled a small box of bandages from his pocket, his brows drawing together. “Next time you decide to run off, at least say something. Natalie was wearing high heels and walked all over the place trying to find you. Her heels are completely raw.” He tossed the box onto the console table. “I bought an extra pack of these. If your feet are blistered too, go ahead and use them.” I stared at the little cardboard box, unable to squeeze out a single word. He had finally remembered that I might be hurting too, but only as an afterthought, a spare item he grabbed while buying medicine for Natalie. At the dinner table, Logan was perfectly polite. He spoke respectfully to my parents, proactively ladled the soup, and answered my father’s questions about college schedules with poise. But his phone never left the table, resting right beside his hand. When the screen lit up, I caught a glimpse of Natalie’s name. It still hurts a bit, her text read. Am I being too dramatic? Logan set his fork down. I already knew what he was going to do before he even moved. Sure enough, he stood up and reached for his coat. “Mr. and Mrs. Miller, I’m really sorry, but I have to run.” My mother blinked, startled. “But you haven’t even finished your dinner.” He gave a low, apologetic explanation. “Natalie is home by herself, and she doesn’t know how to clean the wound properly.” I finally spoke up, my voice remarkably quiet. “She just scraped her heel. Do you really have to go?” Logan paused and looked back at me. In those eyes, eyes I had adored for so many years, there was only weariness and a flash of deep irritation. “Autumn, can you stop making everyone clean up after your tantrums?” In that moment, the entire world seemed to fall dead silent. It was so quiet that I could hear the kitchen sink faucet dripping, a single, rhythmic drop splashing against the metal. After he left, my mother stood by the table, staring at the empty seat for a long time without saying a word. My father quietly picked up his chopsticks, placed a piece of pot roast into my bowl, and spoke softly. “Let’s eat.” Looking at the food in my bowl, a sudden, hot sting rushed to my eyes. I had loved Logan for a very long time, so long that even my parents had spent years tip-toeing around us, trying their best to protect my feelings. But today, I finally realized that he could easily make time to eat with my family, and just as easily abandon us all for a single text from Natalie. I stared at the box of bandages sitting on the entryway table. It felt as though I had finally figured out exactly where I stood in his life. I barely slept that night. As soon as the first light of dawn broke through the curtains, I sat down at my desk. Stack after stack of college prep materials sat piled on the wooden surface: mock exams, mistake journals, half-finished study guides. For the past few months, every ounce of my energy had been poured into these pages. I had wanted to take a gap year to study and retake my entrance exams, not because I was passionate about any particular school, but because I wanted to get closer to Logan. I didn’t want to be the one left behind. But looking at these papers now, for the first time, a profound sense of emptiness washed over me. I couldn’t tell if I was trying to move forward for my own sake, or if I was desperately chasing someone who had never once planned to slow down and wait for me. At breakfast, my mother pushed a bowl of warm oatmeal toward me. Watching the steam rise into the air, I spoke quietly. “Mom, I’m not doing the prep year.” My mother’s spoon froze in her hand. My father looked up from his paper. They both knew how long I had prepared for this. They also knew that on the day high school graduation results came out, I hadn’t cried because of my scores. I had cried because Logan was already set to go to Boston, while my grades had kept me far, far away. My mother asked tentatively, “Is it too exhausting? Do you want to sleep on it?” My father remained quiet for a long moment before asking, “Have you really thought this through, or are you just upset right now?” I stared down at the oatmeal, my voice barely a whisper. “It’s not that I don’t want to work hard. I just realized that this path was never really mine to begin with.” The moment the words left my mouth, my eyes welled up. During our junior year, after our first major mock exam, I had scored terribly in math. After evening study hall, I had hidden beneath the concrete bleachers on the dark sports field, crying my eyes out. Logan had found me there, carrying a stack of scrap paper. He squatted down on the steps beside me, breaking down every single problem, explaining them patiently until the streetlights flickered on. Before we left, he had squeezed my hand. Hang in there, Autumn. I’ll wait for you in Boston. I had treated those words like a North Star. I believed that as long as he was waiting ahead, I could eventually catch up if I ran fast enough. But now I saw the truth. He had never actually stopped walking. He had simply stood far ahead, looking back to toss me a comforting phrase, while I ran myself ragged for years trying to reach him. At noon, I went back to the high school to return my prep course enrollment materials. Just as I reached the stairwell, Natalie came running up behind me, clutching a thick bundle of study guides, sweat beaded on her forehead. “Autumn, perfect timing!” She smiled, catching her breath. “Logan and I stayed up last night highlighting the key sections for you. See if these help.” I froze. Before I could say anything, she leaned in and lowered her voice with a little laugh. “He told me you’d still be throwing a fit today. I actually bet him a coffee that you wouldn’t last past lunch before talking to him again.” My ears started to ring. So my heartbreak was nothing more than a casual wager between them. While I was drowning in misery after walking away, they were sitting together, laughing and guessing how long it would take for me to crawl back. Logan descended the stairs behind her. Seeing me, his eyes fell on the notes in Natalie’s arms. His tone was perfectly flat, as if nothing had happened. “Natalie stayed up incredibly late working on those for you. Don’t go throwing someone’s kindness back in their face.” I looked up into his eyes. The last embers of warmth in my heart died out, leaving only cold ash. “Logan,” I said, my voice shockingly steady. “Let’s break up.” He stiffened. But the brief flash of surprise on his face vanished almost instantly, replaced by that familiar, condescending certainty. “Autumn, figure out what you want to do with your own life before you start making threats. Stop using breakups as a tool just to show everyone you’re throwing a tantrum.” Listening to him, the final thread of hope I held for him snapped. I didn’t repeat myself. I walked past them, pushing through the double doors of the academic counselor’s office. The counselor looked up, surprised to see me. “I thought you were enrolling in the exam prep classes?” I handed over my paperwork. “I’m not doing the prep year. I want to finalize my admission to Austin State.” The counselor flipped through the forms. “Austin is halfway across the country. Are you absolutely sure?” I nodded. As my pen touched the confirmation line, my hand trembled slightly. But I didn’t stop. The moment my signature was finished, a sudden weight lifted from my chest. It felt as though I had finally set down a heavy pack I had been carrying for far too long. After that day, Logan didn’t contact me again. He seemed utterly convinced that I would regret my decision, so he didn’t even bother to ask why. Natalie, however, was still active in our group chat. She sent photos of the study guides she had organized, along with pictures of the spreadsheets she had stayed up making. Autumn, I’ve got everything ready for you. Whenever you change your mind, just let me know and I’ll drop them off. I stared at the name of our group chat. I had created it when we graduated from middle school, naming it Inseparable. Back then, I truly believed the three of us would walk through life side-by-side forever. Logan would explain the difficult problems, Natalie would keep the mood bright, and as long as I followed them, I would never be left behind. Now I saw that the person who got left behind didn’t have to wander off. All it took was for the other two to take one step forward together, leaving me standing outside their circle. I typed back a brief message: No need. I was about to add that I was no longer doing the prep year, but Logan’s message cut in first. She works a part-time job during the day and stays up late organizing notes for you at night. And all you have to say is ‘no need’? Do you even have a heart, Autumn? I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering in the air. A second later, a system notification popped up. You have been removed from the group chat. Looking at those words, I didn’t even feel surprised. But somewhere deep inside, another small piece of my world quietly crumbled away. I cleared the chat history, changed into my uniform, and headed to the bookstore where I worked. I had taken this summer job to save up money for prep class materials. Even though I didn’t need the money for that anymore, I still wanted to finish my shifts for the month. At least when I was busy, my mind wouldn’t drift back to Logan. It was nearly ten at night when the store closed. After checking the locks, I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked toward the bus stop. The alleyway was bustling during the day, but at night, it grew so quiet that the only sound was the low hum of the streetlights. Halfway down, I heard footsteps behind me. A cold shiver crept up my spine. I quickened my pace, preparing to run, but my bag strap was suddenly snagged from behind. I was yanked backward, my shoulder slamming hard against the brick wall. The thick, sour stench of alcohol hit me instantly. Fear seized my throat, my voice cracking. “Let go of me!” A hand reached out to smother my scream. In the middle of the struggle, someone rushed out from the shadows. A heavy canvas bag swung through the air, crashing hard against the man’s shoulder. “Autumn, run!” It was Natalie. Her face was white as a sheet, her hands shaking, but she stood firmly between me and the man. The man swore loudly, shoving her away with brute force. Natalie lost her footing on the slick asphalt. As she fell, her right hand landed directly on a pile of broken glass. Blood pooled onto the pavement almost instantly. My mind went completely blank. I dropped to my knees, practically crawling over to support her. My fingers shook so violently that I couldn’t even hold my phone straight, dialling the emergency number twice before it finally went through. By the time we reached the hospital, I was still in a daze. But Logan had already arrived. He must have run the entire way, his chest heaving as he burst through the doors. Seeing Natalie’s hand wrapped in bloody gauze, all the color drained from his face. He kept pace with her stretcher as they wheeled her into the emergency room, never once looking in my direction. It was only when the doctor mentioned that she would need stitches, and that she shouldn’t use her hand for a while—which would undoubtedly affect her art portfolio showcase next week—that Logan finally whipped his head around to look at me. His gaze was so icy that it stole the breath right out of my lungs. “Are you happy now?” I froze, a loud ringing filling my ears. He took two steps closer to me. “If you hadn’t been throwing this ridiculous tantrum, why would Natalie have been following you in the dark? If she wasn’t trying to help you, would her hand be in this condition?” I stared at him, my lips parting, but I couldn’t form a single word. I had been terrified too. I had almost been assaulted. But he hadn’t asked if I was okay. He only saw that Natalie had been hurt because of me, and he had already decided that I was the one who deserved the blame. During our freshman year, a group of older boys had cornered me in an alley behind the school. Logan had pulled me behind his back, his expression deadly cold as he warned them to back off. When he walked me home that evening, he had draped his school blazer over my head. Don’t worry. Next time you have to walk home in the dark, call me first. I had cherished that promise for years. But now, when real danger had actually found me, he stood before me and only wanted to know why I was dragging others down with me. I looked down at the dark bruises forming on my wrists. Suddenly, I didn’t even have the strength to defend myself. By the next morning, the news had already spread through school. At first, people simply asked me what had happened in the alley. But as the day went on, the rumors twisted into something unrecognizable. Some said I was fooling around with a stranger in the dark. Some said Natalie had nearly ruined her portfolio showcase just to save me from my own mess. Others claimed that I had been emotionally unstable since the breakup, which was why I had caused such a scene. I tried to explain the truth. But everyone I spoke to looked at me with pitying, skeptical eyes. The more I tried to clear my name, the more guilt-ridden I appeared to them. Before noon, my homeroom teacher called me into her office. She poured me a cup of warm water, her voice incredibly gentle. “Autumn, I know you went through a terrible scare last night. But Natalie’s portfolio showcase is next week, and the school is counting on her results.” I kept my eyes glued to the paper cup. The steam rose in lazy spirals, blurring the worksheets on her desk. She continued, “For the next few days, please don’t make any public statements about the rumors. Let’s wait until her showcase is over before we clear everything up.” “And what about the things people are saying about me right now?” I asked. The office fell quiet. She sighed softly. “Summer will be over soon, Autumn. People forget things quickly.” A bitter laugh threatened to bubble up in my throat. Because I was the one taking the damage, I could afford to wait. Because Natalie was the one who needed protection, not a single risk could be taken on her behalf. After leaving the office, I went to the hospital. Natalie was leaning against the pillows, her hand wrapped in a thick layer of white gauze. Her eyes welled with tears the moment she saw me. “Autumn, I’m so sorry.” I stood by the doorway, refusing to take another step into the room. Her voice was barely audible. “I didn’t know the rumors would get this bad. My mom and the teachers said we can’t afford any distractions right now. I promise I’ll explain everything the moment my showcase is finished.” “And what about the meantime?” I asked. She lowered her head, looking at her lap. “Can you just bear with it for a little while? Please?” I looked at her, suddenly unable to tell if her tears were from genuine guilt, or if she was simply terrified that my reputation might drag down her golden future. Just then, Logan pushed the door open. Almost instinctively, he stepped in front of Natalie’s bed, shielding her in a quiet, natural gesture of protection. It was a subtle movement, but to me, it was sharper than any spoken word of favoritism. He looked at me, his tone almost calm. “Autumn, let’s leave things as they are for now. Natalie has her showcase next week, and the school can’t have any negative press. Don’t rush to make excuses. Once she’s done, I’ll help you explain.” “And what about me?” I asked quietly. He went quiet for a few seconds. “You’ve always been the strong one, Autumn.” When those words landed, the last of my feelings went entirely numb. It didn’t hurt anymore. I didn’t want to cry. It was as if some vital thread inside me had finally snapped clean in two. When I returned home, the prep books were still spread across my desk. I closed them, one by one. The mistake journals filled with my handwriting, the study schedules, the reference books Logan had lent me over the years—I packed every single item into a cardboard box. In the end, the only things I left out were my ID card and my admission letter to Austin State. My mother stood beside me, helping me fold my clothes. Halfway through, her hands stopped. “Are you really not going to look back?” I pulled the zipper of my suitcase shut. “No.” The next morning, my father drove me to the airport. During the entire ride, he didn’t mention Logan once. It was only when we reached the curb and he lifted my bags out of the trunk that he looked at me, his eyes filled with quiet concern. “Call us the moment you land.” I nodded. My mother pulled me into a tight embrace. She didn’t say a word, but I could feel her shoulders trembling slightly against mine. As I walked into the terminal, my phone began to vibrate incessantly in my pocket. Logan’s name flashed on the screen, call after call. I didn’t answer. Then came the flood of texts. Where are you? Autumn, come back. Let’s talk. Don’t just disappear on me again. Looking at that last line, a faint smile touched my lips. Even now, he still thought I was just throwing a tantrum. He still believed that once I was done crying in some dark corner, I would quietly crawl back to him on my own. As the boarding announcement echoed through the terminal, I deleted his text thread. Waiting in the boarding line, my mind drifted back to the afternoon of our high school graduation. He had carried my backpack for me, standing by the school gates. The warm summer sunlight had painted his shoulders in gold. See you in Boston next year, he had said. I had nodded so hard my neck hurt, truly believing that was our future. But now, I pulled my carry-on forward. I wasn’t heading to Boston. And I certainly wasn’t heading to him. The gate agent took my boarding pass with a warm smile. “Have a safe flight.” “Thank you,” I murmured. Right before I stepped onto the jet bridge, my phone buzzed one last time. It was a message from my mother. Logan just came to the house. He saw the box of prep books you left behind. He asked me if you really didn’t want any of those books anymore. I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then shut it off. I stepped into the cabin. This time, I didn’t look back.

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1 When Ruby saw the weather forecast warning of a massive storm tomorrow, she suddenly burst into tears, begging me not to make her go to preschool. I was just about to comfort her when Marcus rose from the sofa, looking down at us with a cold, critical gaze. “Gwen, is this how you raise our daughter? Flinching at a little rain? How is she ever going to handle real life if she is this soft?” The bitterness in my chest flared. “Then why don’t you drive her tomorrow?” Ever since his first love, Brooke, returned with her child a year ago, Cascadia had been drowned in a relentless, hundred-day deluge. And every single rainy day, while Ruby and I struggled to survive the downpours on my cheap electric scooter, Marcus was more than willing to duck out of work early. He would gladly drive two hours across the city in his luxury SUV just to chauffeur Brooke and her daughter home. Marcus hesitated, but his phone buzzed. He glanced at me, answered, and retreated to the bedroom. “Brooke? Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll make sure she gets there tomorrow.” I watched his retreating back, a self-deprecating smile tugging at my lips. I gently brushed the tears from Ruby’s eyelashes and whispered, “How about Mommy takes you somewhere it never rains? Would you like that?” Ruby stopped crying, but her bottom lip trembled as she stared at the scrape on my elbow. “Okay. That way, Mommy won’t have to get hurt anymore.” The scrape was still raw, a souvenir from when my scooter had slipped in the mud last week. I hadn’t bothered to cover it. Back then, my heart was still aching over seeing Marcus and Brooke sharing a cozy lunch together. I had actually thought about swallowing my pride, showing him my pain, and asking for a little warmth, just to see if he would feel a shred of guilt. But I never got the chance. He saw the scrape, but he never asked. Now, there was no need to tell him. After putting Ruby to bed, I finally returned to our room. Marcus was already asleep, his sharp brow furrowed even in his dreams. I climbed into bed quietly, keeping a wide, hollow distance between us. In the dead of night, a violent crack of thunder threatened to shatter the windows, followed by a deafening torrent of rain. I bolted upright, my maternal instinct screaming to check on Ruby. Marcus woke up at the same time, staring out at the sheet of water cascading down the glass. “Brooke’s apartment is on the ground floor. I need to go check on her,” he said, scrambling out of bed. I wanted to ask him why. Her parents and her brother lived in the very same complex. Why did a married man need to rush to her rescue in the middle of the night? But his face was a mask of panic as he dialed her number. Usually immaculate, he didn’t even notice he was buttoning his shirt wrong. Swallowing my words, I pulled a waterproof jacket from the closet. “Wear this.” Marcus paused, surprised, and took the jacket from my hands. As he was heading out, habit took over, and I picked up Ruby to see him off. Just then, a massive bolt of lightning split the sky. The lights flickered once and died. We were plunged into darkness. Ruby clung to my neck, her small body trembling violently. But she didn’t look at Marcus, and she didn’t say a word. Marcus’s hand froze on the doorknob. For once, he actually turned back, softening his voice. “Watch Ruby. Light some candles and lock the door. I’ll be back soon.” So, he did know she was terrified of the dark. During the last storm, no matter how much I tried to comfort her, Ruby had cried for her father. Desperate, I had called Marcus. But when he answered, my daughter’s excitement was instantly crushed by his harsh reprimand. “How old are you? Can’t you be a little stronger? Gwen, if she is making a fuss, why are you letting her? I told you I’m working late. I don’t have time for this nonsense.” He thought he had hung up the phone, but he hadn’t. For the next hour, Ruby and I sat in the dark, listening to him read bedtime stories to Brooke’s daughter, Daisy. Our house was stacked with fairy tale books Marcus had never bothered to touch. Ruby didn’t understand. She thought her dad was reading to her, and she had drifted off to sleep with a tearful smile. I, however, lay awake until dawn. Brooke was Marcus’s childhood sweetheart and his first love. They had been on the verge of marriage when she suddenly ran away, pregnant with another man’s child. Now, divorced and struggling, she had crawled back. And Marcus was right there, waiting in the exact same spot. Except now, there was me, the redundant wife. The dampness of the past year had eroded every last bit of my affection for him, leaving nothing but a profound, exhausting weariness. “It’s fine,” I said quietly. “Brooke is struggling alone. You should look after her. You have work tomorrow anyway, so you might as well sleep there.” Marcus looked up, a flash of surprise crossing his eyes. But before he could speak, his phone rang again. He turned and vanished into the stormy night. The rain grew heavier. Ruby woke up crying several times, only falling into a deep sleep near dawn. I opened my laptop and, despite the late hour, reached out to Jasper, a close friend from high school who was now a family lawyer. Fortunately, he was still awake. With his guidance, I began drafting the terms of our divorce agreement, clause by clause. At dawn, as I went to the kitchen for a glass of water, I heard the front door click. I froze, grabbing a heavy wrench from the utility closet. The door pushed open, and Brooke walked in. She was bone-dry, wearing the waterproof jacket I had handed Marcus hours ago. She looked slightly embarrassed when she saw me standing there with a wrench. “Hey. Sorry to crash like this. There was a situation at my place… I said we should just find a hotel, but Marcus wouldn’t hear of it.” Marcus entered right behind her, carrying Daisy on his back. His steps were steady, but a thick trail of blood was running down his forehead. “I couldn’t just leave her,” Marcus said, his voice tense. “Her ex-husband showed up, trying to break in. If I hadn’t gotten there, he would have taken Daisy. He was lurking around all night.” I set the wrench down without a word and fetched the first-aid kit. Brooke took a cotton swab, leaning in to tend to his forehead. Marcus flinched slightly and pulled back. “It’s fine. Go wash up. Let Gwen do it.” Brooke’s hand froze, her expression hardening with awkwardness. “Sorry… old habits. I forgot you’re married now.” I acted as if I hadn’t heard a thing, turning on my heel and returning to my bedroom. Half an hour later, Marcus crawled into bed behind me. He brought with him the faint scent of copper and the cloyingly sweet aroma of orange blossom, Brooke’s signature perfume. I kept my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep, but Marcus spoke anyway, his voice raspy. “Her ex broke her lock. If I hadn’t made it in time, the kid would be gone. I can’t leave them like this. I told them they can stay here for a few days.” He paused. “I know your friend Jasper is a top lawyer. Could you ask him to look into Brooke’s custody case?” The exhaustion of the night finally crushed me. I cut him off. “I’m tired. I have work tomorrow. We’ll talk about this later.” Marcus’s voice instantly turned cold. “Gwen, how can you be so heartless? I treat her like a sister. She respects you, she looks up to you like family. Is it really so hard to show some compassion?” Like family? I turned around to face him, my eyes filled with quiet mockery. But before I could speak, another crack of thunder shook the house. I shuddered involuntarily, and Marcus reached out to pull me close. Just then, cries echoed from both the guest room and Ruby’s bedroom. Marcus threw off the covers and stood up. “Marcus,” I called out, my eyes burning. “Go to our daughter. I’ll check on Brooke’s room.” Marcus paused. His voice was heavy, but there was no hesitation in his choice. “Ruby is closer to you. You are better suited to comfort her. Brooke and Daisy were terrified tonight; they need someone they trust. Next time, okay? I’ll take Ruby to the amusement park next weekend.” He strode out of the room. I ran to Ruby’s room and pulled my shaking daughter into my arms. She was too sensible to ask for her father. Instead, she just wept softly against my shoulder. “Mommy, I’m scared. When can we go to that place where it doesn’t rain? I hate the rain.” My phone buzzed in my pocket. A notification popped up: Flight booked successfully. I brushed the damp hair from her forehead and whispered, “Next week. Next week, we leave.” The rain poured until morning. After preparing breakfast, I knocked on the guest room door. Brooke opened it, wearing one of my silk pajamas, casually pulling the collar tighter. Behind her, Marcus was fast asleep on the bed. Noticing my gaze, Brooke offered a sweet, apologetic smile. “Gwen, don’t get the wrong idea. Marcus slept on the couch all night. I just couldn’t bear to see him so uncomfortable, so I dragged him to the bed early this morning.” She hurried back into the room, gently shaking his arm. “Marcus, wake up. Explain things to Gwen so she doesn’t misunderstand.” Marcus groaned, opening his eyes. “What time is it, Brooke?” The noise woke Daisy, who scrambled over to Marcus’s side, tugging his arm. “Daddy, you’re awake! You promised to take me to McDonald’s today. I was so good last night, I didn’t wake Mommy up once!” Brooke turned back to me with a sheepish look. “Gwen, she is just playing. She calls him her honorary dad. Please don’t mind.” Marcus finally noticed me standing at the door. His brow furrowed. “What are you doing in here?” Indeed. What was I doing here? I let out a soft, humorless laugh, turned, and walked away. While Ruby and I were eating, Marcus led Brooke and Daisy to the front door, fully dressed. “I’m taking Daisy to school,” Marcus said. “We’ll grab breakfast on the way.” Brooke smiled warmly. “I’m tags along to make sure Marcus doesn’t feed her junk food. See you later, Gwen.” Ruby kept her head down, silently eating her food. The heavy front door clicked shut. Ruby looked at her neatly packed backpack resting on the table. “Mom, are we still going to preschool today?” My eyes welled with tears, and I had to look away. “No. We’re going to pack our things today.” I stood up, picked up the plates of untouched food I had spent all morning preparing, and scraped them directly into the trash. It turned out that letting my daughter have one last meal with her father was too much to ask. For the next few days, Ruby and I packed our lives into suitcases, systematically erasing every trace of our seven years in that apartment. I thought I would feel more pain, but my heart was strangely numb, right up until I found the little crocheted sun charm Ruby had made for her window. My eyes stung then. Once the packing was finished, I rolled my suitcase to the door. I left the signed divorce papers on the entryway console, right where Marcus would see them the second he walked in. But as I opened the front door, my phone vibrated. It was Brooke, her voice frantic and laced with tears. “Gwen! You have to come to the hospital! Marcus has been hurt!” I hesitated for a fraction of a second, then reached down, snatched the divorce papers from the table, and shoved them into my handbag. When I reached the ward and saw Marcus, my heart skipped a beat despite myself. His arm was wrapped in a thick layer of gauze, his shirt was stained with dried blood, and his face was deathly pale. “What happened? How did you get hurt like this?” Brooke wiped her tears and, under a sharp look from Marcus, quietly slipped out of the room. Marcus looked at me, a flicker of internal struggle crossing his face. “Brooke’s ex-husband showed up at the school with a bunch of thugs. They tried to take Daisy. I managed to stop them, but the ex threatened to take her to court for sole custody. Brooke doesn’t have a job or a stable household. She will lose the kid.” I felt the last ounce of my sympathy evaporate. “And?” Marcus avoided my eyes, his voice low and tight. “We need to get a divorce. We can do a fast-track mediation and get the certificate immediately. Then, I’ll marry Brooke temporarily so she can secure custody. Once the court settles the ruling, we can get remarried.” I gripped the strap of my bag, where the divorce papers lay. “A custody battle can take years.” Marcus’s voice was as taut as a bowstring. “It won’t take that long. I’ll hire the best lawyers. This is the only way to save the kid, Gwen. I’ve already made up my mind. I know this is unfair to you, but I will make it up to you and Ruby later.” “And what if her ex keeps harassing her?” I asked quietly. “Are you going to guard her for the rest of your life?” Marcus had no answer. I smiled, mocking my own foolishness for expecting even a shred of consideration from him. But before I could pull the papers from my bag, Brooke burst back into the room, grabbing my hands in a desperate grip. “Gwen, please! I can’t lose Daisy! I have no other choice, please, just give us a chance to survive!” Slowly, deliberately, I pried my fingers from her grasp. “I agree,” I said. “And you don’t have to call me ‘sister’ anymore.” We didn’t need my drafted agreement. The court mediation was finalized quickly. Perhaps to ease his own conscience, Marcus left me the apartment and half of his assets. I didn’t know what lie he had told his parents, but Brooke and Daisy moved into the family manor almost immediately. The day we signed the final papers, the sky was brilliant and clear. In all our years together, I had never once gotten to sit in the passenger seat of his car on a rainy day. A few days later, I went to Ruby’s preschool to finalize her withdrawal. To my surprise, I ran into Marcus, Brooke, and Daisy in the main lobby. They looked like a picture-perfect family. This preschool had top-tier security; Marcus had gone through three grueling rounds of interviews just to get Ruby accepted. It made sense that he would pull strings to get Daisy enrolled here now. Brooke looked incredibly awkward, unsure of how to address me. The principal, noticing the tension, tried to break the ice. “Oh, do you all know each other?” I looked at Marcus’s stiff, tense shoulders. “No.” The principal smiled warmly. “What a coincidence then. Both of your husbands share the last name, Marcus. Small world, isn’t it?” I offered a polite smile. “Funny how that works.” As I walked out of the school gates, my phone buzzed with a text from Brooke. Gwen, I don’t care what Marcus told you, but I want you to stay away from him forever. I don’t care how this marriage started—I will never divorce him. Even if I have to slit my wrists, I will keep him. You know he’s always loved me. It was exactly the kind of desperate threat I expected. I didn’t reply. I didn’t send her a bitter blessing, nor did I tell her I was leaving. Let her live in the same constant, trembling anxiety that had consumed me for years. Just as I reached the street corner, Marcus caught up to me, his face dark with anger. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Did you do this on purpose? Just to humiliate Brooke?” I didn’t bother to defend myself. I simply looked up at the dark clouds gathering overhead. “It’s about to rain.” Marcus sneered. “Don’t change the subject. I’ll let it slide this time, but stop triggering Brooke. She is extremely fragile right now. I’ve already got my lawyers fast-tracking Daisy’s custody case. It’ll be over soon. Just go home and take care of Ruby, and stop overthinking.” The first raindrops began to fall. Brooke finally lost her patience and hurried over, wrapping her arm triumphantly around Marcus’s elbow. “It’s starting to pour, Gwen,” she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Did you bring an umbrella? How are you getting back?” Marcus instinctively replied, “I have the car. I’ll drive her.” Brooke gave him a playful, scolding look. “Oh, did you forget? The backseat is completely packed with Daisy’s new gear. Gwen, let us call an Uber for you.” I shook my head. “No need. Someone is picking me up.” Marcus let out a dry, mocking laugh. “At least make your lies believable. Who could possibly be coming to pick you up in this weather?” I didn’t argue. I just kept my eyes on the intersection. Daisy tugged at Marcus’s sleeve. “Daddy, I’m hungry. When are we going to eat?” “In a minute, sweetie.” Marcus refused to move, and Brooke had no choice but to stand beside him, turning the sidewalk into a silent, tense battleground. Two minutes later, a sleek black Mercedes cut through the curtain of rain and pulled up smoothly at the curb. The window rolled down. My daughter excitedly poked her head out from the back seat, waving her little hand at me. “Mommy! Daddy and I came to pick you up!”

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1 After our ninth miserable attempt at playing It Takes Two ended in another screaming match, I went online to vent. I only wanted to ask a simple question. Why did everyone say this game was the ultimate relationship builder, when for us, it was just a fast track to a bitter argument? Within seconds, a top comment was upvoted to the peak of the thread. “Stop clout-chasing. That account belongs to a gaming legend. He cleared the final level with his girlfriend six months ago.” I froze. Just as I was about to type out a reply to explain that the account was indeed ours, the commenter dropped another link, this time containing a digital wedding invitation. “They are getting married tomorrow. They didn’t even bother to change the game theme.” I tapped the image. My entire body went numb. On the screen, the groom was the man I had loved for ten years, the man who promised he would marry me the moment our long-distance stretch ended. And the bride was Sienna, my childhood best friend. A year ago, she had been the one to comfort me. She had said, “If you want to know if a man is ready to walk down the aisle with you, play this game with him first. It shows you who they really are.” But the woman who had actually finished the game with my boyfriend was her. I pinched the screen, zooming in on the image, desperately searching for any sign of photoshop. There was none. The photo was real, and the bright smile on Lucas’s face was real too. He had been abandoned by his parents as a child, leaving him with a naturally guarded, distant personality. He rarely smiled, even when he was with me. Yet in this photo, he was holding Sienna’s hand, looking down at her with a warmth so tender it made my throat tight. A wave of dizzying absurdity washed over me. With trembling fingers, I dialed Lucas’s number. Once, twice, three times. No answer. I called Sienna. It went straight to a busy tone. My heart sank into a cold, dark place. I grabbed my coat and rushed to the train station. On the three-hour journey back to Portland, their phones remained completely unreachable. Left with no other choice, I used a burner account to search for Lucas’s public gaming profile. He was a prominent gaming influencer, handsome and talented, with a massive following of female fans who constantly confessed their love to him. When we first started dating, I had asked him to make our relationship public to avoid the unwanted attention. He had refused, claiming that a professional channel should never mix with private life. But now, his feed was a glowing tribute to his life with Sienna. There were videos of him winning plushies for her at arcade cranes, taking her to midnight movie premieres, and staying up until dawn to help her clear It Takes Two. The night they finally beat the game, I had been curled on my bathroom floor in Seattle, paralyzed by a sudden, agonizing gallstone attack. That night, I had called him nineteen times. Every single call had gone unanswered. The next morning, he text me a brief message, claiming he had been buried under a mountain of work. It turned out this was his work. The train speakers crackled to life, announcing my arrival. I stepped onto the platform, moving like a ghost among the bustling crowd. Just as I stepped out of the station, my phone buzzed. It was Lucas. “Hey, babe. Sorry, I was tied up. Is everything okay?” His voice was as gentle as always, perfectly calm, as if the world hadn’t just shattered beneath my feet. I dug my nails into my palms, fighting back the tears that threatened to choke me. “Where are you?” There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by a forced laugh. “Checking up on me?” “I’m at the studio, pulling an all-nighter. You’re coming back next week, so I need to grind and save up enough to marry you.” Save up to marry me. That was his favorite line during our year of long-distance. Whenever I got upset because he went radio silent, or whenever I begged him to catch a flight to see me, he would use those exact words to soothe me. Back then, those words filled me with a quiet warmth. Now, they tasted like ash. “How are you going to marry me when you are marrying Sienna tomorrow?” Before the words could fully leave my mouth, Sienna’s voice drifted through the receiver. “Lucas, the coordinator needs us on stage for the rehearsal.” The phone was muffled suddenly, emitting a low rustling sound. “Brooke, I’ve got some urgent work to handle. I’ll call you tonight.” He hung up before I could speak. The night air hit my face, freezing the tears on my cheeks. I wiped my face with the back of my hand and hailed a cab to the hotel listed on the wedding invitation. Inside the grand ballroom, the decorations were heavily inspired by It Takes Two. It looked whimsical, dreamlike, and incredibly romantic. I stopped in my tracks. Lucas and I were both obsessed with that game. He had once promised me that he would design a wedding just like this for us. The wedding was here. But the bride had changed. The rehearsal was still underway. The officiant’s voice boomed through the speakers, filled with rehearsed enthusiasm. “And now, groom, you may embrace and kiss your beautiful bride.” I looked up just in time to see Lucas cup Sienna’s face, leaning down to press his lips against hers. It was the final straw. Whatever remaining thread of my sanity existed snapped completely. I sprinted up the stairs of the stage, grabbing both of them and tearing them apart. When they saw my face, the smiles on their lips froze instantly. Sienna recovered first. Her wide, innocent eyes immediately filled with tears. She reached out, trying to grab my sleeve with a fragile, trembling hand. “Brooke, please, just let me explain. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” She didn’t mean for this to happen. Six months ago, she had messaged me out of the blue, boasting that she had finally found someone who could help her beat It Takes Two. At the time, I had been genuinely happy for her. Even when she subtly mocked how Lucas, a professional gamer, couldn’t seem to clear a simple co-op game with me, I had brushed it off. I never could have imagined that the man staying up all night with her was my own boyfriend. Two decades of friendship crumbled into dust right there on the stage. I slapped her hand away, my voice dripping with venom. “Sienna, you really are your mother’s daughter. Shameless to the core.” “That is enough!” Lucas stepped in front of Sienna, shielding her trembling body in his arms. He looked at me with a complicated mixture of guilt and frustration. “This is on me. It has nothing to do with Sienna. Don’t cause a scene here, it’s not good for her health.” I stared at him. The fury that had been boiling inside me suddenly drained away, leaving a hollow, freezing ache. Since discovering the truth, I had played out a hundred different scenarios of what he might say to me. I had prepared myself for lies, excuses, or even anger. But I never expected this. It’s not good for her. Just those few words made it entirely clear where his loyalty now lay. A bitter, desperate sense of injustice reared its head. “Not good for her? What about me?” “Lucas, does any of this feel fair to you?” I had loved him for ten years. I had stayed up late with him to edit his videos. I had stood under the scorching sun to pitch his channel to skeptical sponsors. When his studio was in its infancy, I had pawned my grandmother’s antique jade bracelet just to keep his business afloat. On the day his studio officially launched, he had held me tightly, his eyes red. He had sworn, “Brooke, I promise you a beautiful life. If I ever betray you, I deserve to lose everything.” The vows felt like they were spoken yesterday, but the promise itself had already become a useless scrap of paper. Perhaps reminded of the past, Lucas’s eyes softened slightly. He opened his mouth to speak, but the whispers from the wedding staff and guests below the stage had already begun. “What’s going on? Is that an ex?” “Who crashes a wedding the day before? Talk about a desperate side chick.” “She looks decent, but she’s actually trying to steal someone else’s man? How pathetic.” The vicious murmurs drifted up, piercing my ears like needles. “I am not a side chick!” I screamed, but no one was listening. With tears blurring my vision, I looked at Lucas, waiting for him to say one word of defense for me. Just one. He pressed his lips together and took a step forward. But before a spark of hope could ignite in my chest, his next words extinguished it completely. “Security, please escort her out.” I stared at him, unable to believe my ears. He walked over, leaning down to whisper in my ear, “Go home first, Brooke. I will come over and explain everything tonight.” As the guard pushed me off the stage, I heard Lucas turning back to the wedding coordinator, his voice clear and attentive. “Make sure there are no orange juices on the menu. Sienna is severely allergic.” “Have some stomach medication ready at every table, just in case her gastritis flares up.” “And adjust the air conditioning vents. The cold air shouldn’t blow directly on her.” He was meticulous, handling every minor detail with care. He had never been this attentive when he was with me. Standing there, I realized how utterly pathetic my ten years of devotion had been. “I can walk myself,” I said, shaking off the guard’s hand. I walked out of the hotel, my head held high despite the tears streaming down my face. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was my director in Seattle. “Brooke, a talent like yours is wasted in Portland. Are you absolutely sure you want to transfer back?” Over the past year, he had asked me that question dozens of times. My answer had always been a firm yes. But now, everything had changed. “No,” I whispered into the receiver. “I’m staying in Seattle.” I walked back to our shared apartment, packed my remaining belongings into a single suitcase, and sat on the couch to wait for him. Ten years of history deserved a clean, explicit ending. Lucas returned sooner than I expected. Seeing me on the couch, he walked over, naturally resting his head against my shoulder with a heavy sigh. “Brooke, I’m so exhausted. Just let me hold you for a second.” In the early days of his startup, he used to come home late and do this very thing. He used to say that holding me was the only thing that kept him sane. But now, his exhaustion was from planning a wedding for another woman. I let out a cold laugh and shoved him away. “When did it start?” He was silent for a few seconds. “A year ago.” A bitter memory flashed in my mind. A year ago, my mother was diagnosed with gastric cancer, and my company offered me a major promotion in Seattle. I hadn’t wanted to go, but Lucas had insisted. “Brooke, don’t let life clip your wings. Go to Seattle. I will take care of your mother here.” I had been so incredibly moved, viewing him as my rock. But my rock had been crumbling from the very start. I struggled to find my voice. “Why?” He loosened his tie, his expression growing irritable. “It was an accident at first. She was drinking heavily at a bar because of some personal issues, and I happened to be there. The alcohol got the better of us.” “I tried to break it off, but she was so vulnerable, so entirely alone in the world. I couldn’t just abandon her.” “So I promised her we would only have this one year. I wanted to give her her dream wedding, to give her some closure, and then end it before you came back. Brooke, you have to believe me, you are the one I love.” He reached out, trying to take my hand. “We can go register our marriage tomorrow, right after the ceremony. I promise.” I had waited ten years for him to propose a marriage license. Yet here it was, offered as a cheap consolation prize for his betrayal. I pulled my hand back, a cold sneer forming on my lips. “What makes you think I would ever want to be with you now?” “Lucas, we are done. It’s over.” His face paled, but the panic was quickly replaced by a smug, ugly certainty. “Brooke, stop throwing a tantrum. You were abused by your stepfather when you were ten. You are almost thirty now, with a mother who has terminal cancer. If you leave me, what other man is ever going to want you?” I stared at him. The words felt like a red-hot coal pressed against my bare chest. Twenty years ago, when my mother and I fled that abusive household, that trauma had been my deepest, most agonizing scar. Back then, Lucas had held me close, kissing away my tears. He had said, “It wasn’t your fault. To me, you are the most precious, pure soul in the world.” And now, he was using that very scar to tell me I was damaged goods. My chest heaved as I fought to keep from crying. Right then, his phone rang, breaking the heavy silence. Lucas looked at the screen, and his tense expression instantly softened. “She’s here with me. Okay, I’ll tell her.” He hung up, sighed, and reached out to gently wipe the tears from the corner of my eye. “Don’t cry. Sienna just said that if you agree to be her bridesmaid tomorrow, she will step out of our lives forever. What more do you want?” I looked at him, feeling as though I was listening to some sick, twisted joke. My boyfriend and my best friend had betrayed me, and now they wanted me, the victim, to stand beside them and witness their happiness? I clenched my fists so hard my palms bled. “What makes you think I would ever agree to be her bridesmaid?” Lucas stepped back, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Brooke, don’t be difficult. You are her best friend, it’s only right that you stand by her. I’m sure your mother would want you to make the sensible choice too.” The veiled threat hung heavily in the air. I stared at him in utter disbelief. But he simply smiled, patting my head as if he hadn’t just threatened my mother’s peace of mind. “I need to go back and keep Sienna company. She’s nervous about tomorrow. I’ll see you at the hotel in the morning. Don’t be late.” The door clicked shut behind him. It felt like a physical slap to my face. I stared at the empty room, and suddenly, I started to laugh. A bridesmaid? Fine. I would be there. The next morning, I arrived at the hotel early. Sienna was draped in a gorgeous, custom-made lace wedding gown. When she saw me walk in, a triumphant smile spread across her face. “Brooke, you lost.” There was nothing but smug satisfaction in her eyes. Looking at her, I couldn’t help but remember when we were teenagers. Her mother had been a mistress, and I had no father. I used to throw stones at the kids who bullied her, and she would sneak food from her kitchen when I was starving. During those dark, miserable years, we had been each other’s survival. When had she become this monster? My voice sounded hollow, even to my own ears. “Why?” She paused for a fraction of a second, then her smile returned. “I did this for your own good. You were with him for ten years and he never married you. Doesn’t that prove he never really loved you?” “He and I are soulmates.” She said it with such righteous conviction, as if she wasn’t the same girl who had once sworn to protect my happiness forever. I smiled faintly. “Soulmates? Then why does he refuse to let me go?” Her face darkened instantly. “After today, you two are finished anyway.” She turned and gestured to a group of men in suits standing nearby. “Our bridesmaid is all yours. Make sure you show her a good time.” My brows furrowed. I tried to step back, but the groomsmen quickly closed in, blocking my path. “What are you doing? Let me go!” They ignored my protests, their hands reaching out to grab my arms and waist. My face went pale. Seeing Lucas walking down the hallway, I screamed out to him. “Lucas! Help me!” “What’s going on here?” Lucas frowned, taking a step toward us. But Sienna quickly caught his arm, pulling him back. “Oh, they’re just playing the traditional wedding games with the bridesmaid. It looks like Brooke is still being a bit of a party pooper.” Hearing her words, Lucas’s feet glued to the floor. He looked at me with a mild, dismissive sigh. “Come on, Brooke. It’s just a wedding game. Stop making a scene and just put up with it for a bit.” With that, he wrapped his arm around Sienna’s waist and walked toward the main hall. “Lucas!” I screamed his name until my throat burned, but he didn’t even turn his head. Once they were out of sight, the groomsmen grinned, their eyes flashing with malice. “We heard you’ve been his free plaything for ten years. Why act like a virgin now?” “Exactly. If the bride hadn’t given us the green light, we wouldn’t even bother with you.” “Your dress looks a bit tight. Let us help you loosen it.” In the chaotic struggle, the zipper of my dress was violently pulled down, and the fabric began to slide off my shoulders. I clutched my chest, desperately trying to dial Lucas’s number with my free hand. No one answered. Through the one-way glass of the bridal suite, I could see the main stage. I saw Lucas kneeling before Sienna, sliding a diamond ring onto her finger. I saw him frown, pull out his phone, and switch it off. In utter despair, my hand brushed against a silver fruit knife on the vanity table. I grabbed it and pressed the blade against my neck. “Get back!” “Whoa, chill out. We were just playing around. Don’t do anything stupid.” Seeing the thin line of blood bead on my neck, the groomsmen panicked, pushing each other out of the room as they fled. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the cold tile floor, completely drained. I don’t know how much time passed before the announcer’s voice echoed through the speakers. “And now, let us welcome our beautiful bridesmaid to offer her heartfelt blessings to the newlyweds.” Using the vanity table for support, I forced myself to stand. I adjusted my torn dress as best as I could and walked slowly onto the stage. Seeing my disheveled, pale appearance, Lucas’s eyes flashed with concern. He stepped forward to support me. “Brooke, what happened to you?” I flinched away from his touch, taking the microphone from the host’s hand. I looked at the crowd, my voice steady and clear. “I have prepared a special video tribute for the bride and groom. Please look at the big screen.”

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1 Gideon and I had hit the divorce attorney’s office seven times, infamous as Boston’s most volatile couple. After our seventh split, I met a friend at a lounge where his drunken taunts floated over from a nearby booth. He bragged I’d beg to remarry within a month, his friends roaring as someone recorded it. Swirling his drink, he sneered that I couldn’t survive without him. My friend warned me not to take him back. I shook my head. In my past life, he paraded affairs while chaining me to the Pierce name. His mistress ran me over; he was bedding his secretary as I lay comatose. I woke paralyzed, yet he mocked me by bringing lovers into my hospital room. This time, I was done. My legs mattered more than his poison. I was finished with Gideon Pierce. … Emma arrived fashionably late, her stilettos clicking sharply against the floor. Gideon immediately pulled her into his lap, pressing his mouth to hers as if they were the only two people in the room. Under the dim club lights, a thin glint of saliva stretched between them as they pulled away. When I witnessed this exact scene in my previous life, I had lost my mind. I lunged at Emma, tearing at her hair, screaming and thrashing in a blind, jealous rage. My reward was a brutal backhand across the face from Gideon. I had trembled on the floor, swallowing the blood and a broken tooth, my face soaked in desperate tears. He had merely cradled Emma to his chest, whispering sweet comforts to her before tossing a single word down at me. “Psychopath.” He was right. The old me had loved him to the point of losing every shred of my sanity. I really was a psychopath. But this time, I refused to go crazy for him. I finished the last drop of my drink, stood up, and grabbed my coat. Just as I turned to leave, Emma called out. Her voice dripped with saccharine innocence. “Anna? Oh my gosh, is that you?” I felt the burning stares on my back, but I refused to turn around. Emma strutted over, looking me up and down before letting out a soft, pitying giggle. “It really is you. Why do you always dress like this? You were Mrs. Pierce once, after all.” She placed heavy, deliberate emphasis on the word ‘were’. She was draped head to toe in the latest limited edition designer pieces. I glanced down at my own outfit. The most expensive thing on my body was my shoes. I bought them off a clearance website for twenty bucks. Gideon walked over, his voice a low, unreadable drawl. “Did you think she was still that high and mighty heiress?” “She is drowning in millions of dollars of family debt. She can’t even compare to you.” Emma immediately leaned against his chest, her tone incredibly soft and naive. “Gideon, you are so mean. Why don’t you help her out?” “Oh wait. I remember now. Anna is a strong, independent woman. She doesn’t spend a dime of your money.” Gideon let out a cold scoff. “Independent? It is all just an act. A pathetic strategy to keep me tied down.” My lips parted slightly, but no words came out. When we first got married, every tabloid in Boston swore I was a gold digger. Even Gideon had cornered me with bloodshot eyes, demanding to know if I only wanted him for his trust fund. I never cared what the rest of the city thought, but his doubt shattered me. So I fought tooth and nail to prove my worth to him. Yet all my desperate independence only bought me deeper misunderstandings. He never believed in me. Not once. My best friend stood up abruptly, ready to start a fight. I grabbed her wrist and dragged her straight out of the lounge. In my past life, she stood up for me that exact night and deeply offended Gideon. Less than a month later, her family’s entire supply chain was financially starved and shut down. In this life, I absolutely refused to drag her down with me. After making sure she was safely in a cab, I pulled out my phone. My thumb hovered over my contacts before finally pressing down on my grandfather’s number. Three years ago, my father went bankrupt and jumped off a building. My mother, consumed by grief, followed him. My grandfather sent his people to collect me. He offered me a safe harbor. But his condition was absolute. I had to leave Gideon and marry a man of his choosing. I rejected my grandfather, vowing that Gideon and I would be happy forever. I bet my entire life on that promise, and I lost everything. Thankfully, in this life, I still had my legs. I still had the chance to choose differently. I took a deep breath and listened to the line connect. “Grandfather. Is that offer you made still on the table?” The voice on the other end was old, raspy, and immovable as stone. “You are agreeing to the arranged marriage?” I swallowed the bitter ache in my throat and spoke softly. “Yes. I accept.” It was three in the morning when I walked into the house. The master bed was already a tangled, chaotic mess. Emma was curled up under the sheets, her bare shoulders covered in fresh red marks. Gideon leaned against the headboard, a half smoked cigarette pinched between his fingers. He raised an eyebrow at me, clearly waiting for me to explode. I forced my heart to slow its rhythm. I would not give him the satisfaction of a breakdown. I had very little to take with me. I opened the dresser drawer and quietly packed my passport, my IDs, and my mother’s jewelry into my tote bag. Gideon’s voice cut through the silence. “What exactly is this act?” A second later, something light hit my shoulder. It stung just a little. A small cardboard box clattered to the floor. Pink. Strawberry flavored. Empty. Gideon ordered me around with practiced ease. “We are out. Go buy another box.” Emma giggled from against his chest. “Gideon, stop it. How could you ask her to buy those for us?” This kind of degradation had happened so many times, I honestly thought I was immune to it by now. But a sick wave of nausea still churned in my stomach. Unable to stand the sight of them for another second, I zipped my bag and turned toward the door. Gideon crossed the room in three massive strides. His hand locked around my wrist like a vice, his voice turning to absolute ice. “You used to act like a screaming lunatic, and now you are switching up your strategy? Playing hard to get?” “Why are you always so insanely jealous? Can’t you learn to be a little more compliant and sensible like the others?” “You demand my absolute loyalty, but who the hell do you think you are? What gives you the right to ask that of me?” I looked at him, a bitter, hollow smile pulling at my lips. Back in college, there was always a line of girls throwing themselves at him. Back then, he used to ask me the same question over and over again. Why don’t you ever get jealous? Do you even care about me at all? Later, I finally learned how to care. I learned how to show it. And then he started calling me suffocating. I peeled his fingers off my wrist one by one, walked around the foot of the bed, and headed for the hallway. Emma wrapped a blanket around herself and blocked my path. Her face was a mask of pure, innocent distress. “Anna, please don’t leave. If someone has to go, it should be me.” Gideon caught up to her, sweeping her up into his arms right in front of my face. His voice dripped with exaggerated affection. “Where do you think you are going? Our night is not over yet. You are not the one leaving.” Emma’s voice remained soft, but her eyes were practically glowing with triumph and smug victory. “But Gideon, I think she is actually mad this time.” Gideon shot me a look of pure contempt. “Let her go. Her parents are dead. Knowing how stubborn she is, she refuses to beg anyone for help.” “She has nowhere else to go. This is her only home.” I stood perfectly still, a tiny, almost invisible smirk touching the corner of my mouth. Three years ago, standing in front of my parents’ caskets, he held me tight and swore he would protect me forever in their place. And now here he was. Holding his mistress, mocking me for being an orphan with nowhere to run. Maybe I was finally numb, because my heart didn’t even ache. I gave him one last exhausting look and walked out the front door. Gideon’s voice stabbed into my back. “Anna, I am giving you one last chance. Are you absolutely sure about this? Do not come crying to me later.” I did not answer. I did not look back. It was four in the morning by the time I hit the main road. The night wind bit into my skin. Suddenly, a black van swerved aggressively, cutting me off. The world flipped upside down. Rough hands grabbed me, dragging me into the back seat. When I regained consciousness, the sharp, salty smell of the ocean filled my lungs. I looked down and used my teeth to gnaw at the rough rope binding my wrists. I worked at it, millimeter by millimeter. Just as the knot loosened, I heard muffled voices from outside the cabin. I crept toward the heavy metal door and peeked through the narrow crack. One of the kidnappers stood with his back to me. His tone was incredibly respectful. “Mr. Pierce, what are your orders? How do we proceed?” Gideon’s voice crackled through the phone’s speaker. [Anna is too used to acting high and mighty. She needs to suffer a bit to learn her place.] [I am leaving it to you. I don’t care what methods you use, as long as she breaks. I want her crawling back, begging me to remarry her.] He paused for a second before adding one final order. [Don’t go too far. Just don’t cripple her.] A violent chill shot down my spine, making me shudder uncontrollably. When he first fell in love with me, my pride was exactly what he adored. Now, he wanted to crush my spirit, file down my edges, and mold me into an obedient pet. What gave him the delusion that he owned my soul? Just as the thought crossed my mind, the kidnapper turned his head. His eyes locked directly onto me. He froze, immediately hung up the phone, and lunged forward, reaching for my shoulder. I twisted out of his grip, ducked under his arm, and sprinted out onto the open deck. The dark horizon blurred into the freezing, turbulent ocean below. Without a single second of hesitation, I threw myself over the railing. The moment I hit the water, the icy depths swallowed all sound. I swam until my muscles screamed and my lungs burned. By the time I dragged myself onto the rocky shore, the sky was already turning gray with the dawn. Before I could even catch my breath, a cold, elegant voice floated down from above. “I won the bet.” A man stood on a jagged rock a few yards away, a pair of binoculars resting loosely in his hand. Behind him idled a heavy duty SUV, flanked by several men in black suits. “I bet my security team on whether you would survive the night or drown.” I forced myself up on trembling legs, my voice hoarse. “Who are you?” The man slipped his hands into the pockets of his trench coat and hopped down from the rocks. A distant, polite smile graced his lips. “Rowan Sinclair. Your future husband.” “Let’s skip the pleasantries.” “I accept the marriage. The terms your grandfather offered are very generous. But I have one strict condition.” “The wedding will not be in London. It has to be in Boston.” He gave me a long, calculating look. “I need to establish my dominance in the domestic market quickly. A high profile wedding is the most efficient way to do that. Every single member of Boston’s elite will receive an invitation.” “Including Gideon Pierce.” I looked up at him, my voice completely steady. “He is my ex husband. Are you not worried he will ruin your big day?” Rowan’s lips curved into a dark, predatory smirk. “Worried? I am counting on it.” … The wedding date was locked in immediately. Two weeks before the ceremony, Rowan took me to a high society charity gala. It was held on the top floor of the city’s most exclusive hotel. It was a masquerade, requiring every guest to wear a mask upon entry. Halfway through the night, I slipped away to the restroom. Through the heavy wooden door, I heard Emma’s sweet, trembling voice. “Gideon, it has been days. Why haven’t those men called you back?” “Are you really not worried about Anna at all?” Gideon’s breathing sounded heavy, but his tone was as arrogant and lazy as ever. “Why would I panic? It is not like she can actually escape.” “Give it a little more time. Once the fight is beaten out of her, she will come crawling back to me.” The distinct rustle of clothing shifting against the wall followed his words. I lowered my eyes and let out a quiet, genuine laugh. After everything, Gideon was still utterly convinced I would return to him. I turned around and took a few steps down the hall. A second later, the bathroom door clicked open. Heavy, familiar footsteps approached from behind. My spine stiffened instinctively. My breath caught in my throat. Gideon walked right past me, a velvet mask dangling casually from his fingers. The heavy stone in my chest finally dropped. I was about to keep walking when he suddenly stopped. He turned around. He stared at me, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his eyes. “Have we… met before?” My lungs seized. For a split second, my mind went entirely blank. “Mr. Pierce, your pickup lines are incredibly outdated.” Rowan Sinclair appeared out of nowhere, standing tall at my side. He reached up and pulled off his own mask, revealing his cold, aristocratic features. “It is a shame, really. This woman is my fiancée.” “The wedding is in two weeks. I believe my people have already sent you the invitation.” “I look forward to seeing you there.” Gideon’s eyes locked onto Rowan’s face for a long, tense moment before he forced a smile. Summoning his practiced corporate composure, he took a step forward and shook Rowan’s hand. The moment they let go, Emma came jogging down the hallway. She immediately started whining about how Gideon had left her behind. Gideon aggressively brushed her hand off his arm, muttered a harsh reprimand, and walked away. Emma pouted, but quickly scurried after him. Rowan glanced down at me, a faint, mocking smile on his lips. “What are you so terrified of? Do you think he is going to eat you alive?” “Terrified…” I repeated the word in a daze. Maybe it was the muscle memory of being entangled with him across two lifetimes. Maybe it was because every time we fought, I was always the one who lost. My body had learned to fear him long before my brain could stop it. But things were different now. I had no reason to be afraid anymore. … The next two weeks vanished in the blink of an eye. On the day of the wedding, I sat in the bridal suite. Through the door, I could hear footsteps and hushed, gossiping laughter. Word had spread that the Pierce family was in chaos. Rumors claimed his ex wife had jumped into the sea. There were whispers of suicide, kidnapping, and cartel hits, all blending into a wild urban legend. Even my makeup artists were whispering about it. They said that was exactly why Gideon Pierce was running late to the most important society wedding of the year. I looked at my flawless reflection in the vanity mirror. My heart was a quiet, perfectly still lake. The wedding march began to play. I walked slowly down the aisle, moving steadily toward Rowan. Soft, buzzing whispers immediately filled the grand hall. Hundreds of guests stared at me. Some looked curious, some looked greedy for drama, and some gave knowing, weighted glances. Every single person in the room recognized me as Gideon’s ex wife. And naturally, so did the man sitting in the front row. The exact second my fingers touched Rowan’s palm, a raw, entirely unhinged scream tore through the room from behind me. “Anna!”

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I’m a forensic pathologist. Occupational hazard: I’m hyper-sensitive to fingerprints. On the doorknob of my house, there have only ever been two sets of prints. Mine, and my wife’s. During our fifth year of marriage, I came back from a business trip and wiped down the doorknob out of habit. On the third swipe, my portable fingerprint scanner suddenly lit up. An unfamiliar fingerprint. Positioned exactly at the most common angle used to unlock the door. I turned and asked my wife. She smiled and said, “Are you being paranoid again?” Her smile was faint. Her hands, chopping vegetables, were completely steady. But I knew the owner of that fingerprint had been here at least three times. Because the depth of the pressure and the oil residue indicated a habitual action. I didn’t say a word. That night, I pulled up our neighborhood’s security footage. On the screen, a man walked into my house on the second day of my business trip. He didn’t come out until 3:00 AM. 1 My name is Arthur Cole. I’ve been a forensic pathologist for eight years. This line of work gave me a weird quirk—a pathological sensitivity to fingerprints. When normal people come home, the first thing they do is take off their shoes. The first thing I do is wipe down the doorknob. It’s not germaphobia. It’s professional instinct. There should only ever be two sets of prints on that handle: mine, and my wife, Sarah’s. In our five years of marriage, I wiped it down three times a day. Once when leaving in the morning, once coming home at night, and once before bed. At first, Sarah thought I had a psychological issue, but she eventually got used to it. She used to joke, “The love of your life isn’t me, it’s that stupid doorknob.” I’d laugh and pull her into a hug. “Doorknobs don’t lie to me.” She’d punch my shoulder. “You say that like I would.” I never replied. Because back then, I truly believed she never would. Until that day. I got back from my trip around 9:00 PM. Sarah was in the kitchen cutting up fruit. The TV in the living room was playing some reality show. Everything was perfectly normal. I set down my suitcase and instinctively walked over to the front door. I pulled out my portable fingerprint scanner. It was my habit, my obsession. First scan. The screen showed two sets of prints. Mine, and Sarah’s. Good. Second scan. Still two sets. No problem. On the third scan, the screen suddenly lit up. Three sets of fingerprints. I froze. The third set of prints was located exactly at the angle most commonly used to turn the handle. The pressure depth was obvious, the oil residue crystal clear. This wasn’t an accidental brush. This was a habitual action. I turned to look at the kitchen. Sarah was still cutting fruit, her back to me. The knife hit the cutting board in a rhythmic, steady tempo. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Perfectly steady. “Did anyone come over?” I asked. She didn’t even look up. “No.” “Are you sure?” “Positive.” She turned around, offering me a slice of apple. “Are you being paranoid again?” Her smile was faint. Her eyes were perfectly clear. But my hands were shaking. Because that fingerprint told me a different story— They had been here at least three times. And it happened while I was out of town. I took the apple slice and took a bite. It was sweet. So sweet it tasted bitter. “I’m gonna take a shower,” I said. “Okay. Go to bed early when you’re done, you look exhausted.” Her concern sounded so genuine. I walked into the bathroom and locked the door. I pulled out my phone and accessed the neighborhood HOA’s security camera system. I had the access codes. Both because I was a homeowner, and because I had previously helped the HOA resolve a legal dispute. I scrolled the timeline back to the day I left. I fast-forwarded from 8:00 AM. 9:00 AM, Sarah leaves for work. 6:00 PM, she comes home. By 10:00 PM, nothing unusual. I kept scrolling. Day two. 8:00 AM, Sarah leaves. 6:00 PM, she comes home. 9:00 PM— A man appeared on the screen. He was wearing a black jacket and a baseball cap. He walked right up to my door. Pulled out a key. Opened the door. Walked in. My grip on my phone tightened. I kept watching. At 3:00 AM, he finally came out. The brim of his hat was pulled low, hiding his face. But his build was clear. About 5’9″, medium build. I took a screenshot. Zoomed in. Zoomed in again. I saw the tattoo on his left wrist. A snake. I saved the image. Kept scrolling. Day four. He came back. This time, he went in at 11:00 PM and came out at 2:00 AM. Day seven. Him again. In at 10:00 PM, out at 4:00 AM. Three times. Always in the dead of night. Staying for hours each time. I closed the security app and turned on the faucet. I splashed cold water on my face, but it couldn’t extinguish the fire burning in my chest. I took a deep breath. Forced myself to stay calm. As a forensic pathologist, I had seen too many crimes of passion. Murders committed out of impulse, out of rage, out of a total loss of reason. The people who ended up in prison were always the ones who couldn’t control their emotions. I couldn’t be like them. I needed to uncover the truth. And then— I’d make sure the person who deserved it, paid for it. 2 I didn’t confront Sarah. Because I knew confronting her was useless. She would lie. She would deflect. She would turn it around and accuse me of being paranoid. What I needed was evidence. Ironclad proof. Early the next morning, I went to work as usual. Once I got to the lab, I forwarded the screenshot to Dr. Miller. Dr. Miller was my mentor, a veteran forensic pathologist with over thirty years of experience. The very first thing he ever taught me was: Never trust the words coming out of a mouth. Trust the evidence. “I need you to run a guy for me,” I said, walking into his office. Dr. Miller took my phone and glanced at the screenshot. “A tattoo?” “Yeah. Left wrist, snake design.” “What are we looking for?” “Identity, criminal record, everything you can find.” Dr. Miller looked up at me. “What happened?” I paused for two seconds. “Personal matter.” He didn’t ask anything else. He transferred the screenshot to his computer and started running it through the database. Tattoos are excellent identifiers. Especially ones in obvious locations with unique designs. Twenty minutes later, Dr. Miller called me over. “Found him.” I walked over to the screen. A mugshot was displayed. Kevin Reed, 32 years old, unemployed. Record: Sentenced to three years in prison for felony fraud three years ago. Released six months ago. Address: Rented apartment in a low-income neighborhood on the edge of town. I stared at his face. Very average features. But there was an indescribable ruthlessness in his eyes. “Know him?” Dr. Miller asked. “No.” “Then why are we running him?” I didn’t answer. Dr. Miller looked at me and sighed. “Arthur, you look terrible.” “I’m fine.” “You’re not fine,” he said. “I’ve mentored you for eight years. You think I don’t know what that look on your face means?” I turned to leave. Dr. Miller stopped me. “If this is a family matter, you need to stay cool. Being impulsive won’t solve anything.” “I know.” “You don’t know shit,” he snapped. “The way you look right now, you look like you’re going to kill someone.” I didn’t say a word. Because he was right. I did want to kill someone. Just not right now. When I got home, Sarah had dinner ready. Three dishes and a soup. All my favorites. “You’re home early today,” she noted. “Yeah, wasn’t too busy.” I sat down and picked up my fork. “Perfect, you can come to the grocery store with me. We’re out of soy sauce.” “Sure.” During dinner, I watched her. Her expressions were natural. Her movements were fluid. There was absolutely nothing abnormal about her. She put a piece of ribs in my bowl. “Eat up, you’ve lost weight lately.” “Thanks.” “Don’t be so polite with me.” She smiled. Smiling so gently. So completely fake. After dinner, we walked to the supermarket. On the way, she linked her arm through mine. “Honey, my birthday is next month. What are you going to get me?” “What do you want?” “A necklace, maybe? I saw a really pretty one the other day.” “How much?” “Not too bad, about thirty grand.” Thirty grand. She said it so effortlessly. As if it wasn’t thirty thousand dollars, but thirty cents. I thought about the security footage of Kevin walking into my house. I thought about the snake tattoo on his wrist. I thought about the file Dr. Miller pulled up— A convicted fraudster. Fresh out of prison six months ago. Why was Sarah associating with a guy like that? For money? Or something else? “Honey?” She nudged me. “What are you thinking about?” “Nothing,” I said. “I’ll think about the necklace.” “Okay.” She smiled. “No rush, we still have a month.” Yeah. Still a month. A month until her birthday. Maybe by then, the whole truth would be exposed. When we got home, Sarah went to take a shower. I sat in the living room and unlocked her phone. I knew the passcode. It was our anniversary. She never cared if I looked at her phone. Because she wasn’t using this phone to contact him. Her texts were full of normal conversations with coworkers and friends. Her call log was completely ordinary. No Kevin Reed. Not a single trace. She was very careful. Or rather, she had anticipated that I might check her phone. So she was using a different method to communicate. I locked the phone and put it exactly where I found it. I walked out to the balcony and lit a cigarette. Sarah hated it when I smoked. But tonight, I had to. If I didn’t, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from kicking down the bathroom door and confronting her. The smoke slowly dissipated into the night air. The streetlights in the neighborhood flickered on one by one. I remembered the day we got married, five years ago. She stood in front of me in her white dress. Smiling so radiantly. She had said, “Arthur, the luckiest thing that ever happened to me was marrying you.” And I had said, “Me too.” Back then, I thought we would always be like that. Right into old age. Looking back on it now. It was all a pathetic joke. 3 The next night, I pretended I had to work late. In reality, I was parked in my car outside the neighborhood gates. I parked at an intersection with a clear view of the entrance. I dimmed the dashboard lights and leaned back in my seat. And I waited. 10:00 PM. 10:30 PM. 10:50 PM. Sarah walked out of the main gate. She was wearing a black cocktail dress I had never seen before. Her makeup was heavy. Her lipstick was blood red. A black Audi pulled up in front of her. She opened the back door and got in. The car drove off. I started my engine and followed. Keeping my distance. Not too close, not too far. The Audi drove all the way to the outskirts of the city. Traffic thinned out. The streetlights grew sparse. Finally, the car stopped in front of an abandoned, half-finished apartment complex. Sarah got out and walked straight inside. I waited five minutes. Killed the engine, locked the car, and followed her. The abandoned building was eight stories high. There were no elevators, and the stairwell was pitch black. I turned on my phone flashlight and slowly made my way up. Every step was calculated and quiet. First floor, empty. Second floor, also empty. Third floor— I heard voices. They were quiet, but in this dead-silent environment, they carried clearly. I turned off my flashlight and kept climbing in the dark. The voices got closer. Fourth floor. Fifth floor. Sixth floor. The top floor. The eighth floor. Light spilled out from underneath a cracked door. I pressed myself flat against the wall and crept closer. “…it has to work this time. We have no way out.” It was Sarah’s voice. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it all set up.” A man’s voice. Unfamiliar, yet familiar. It had to be Kevin. “Tomorrow night, Arthur is on the night shift. We make our move then.” The blood in my veins instantly turned to ice. “He really doesn’t suspect a thing?” Kevin asked. “Nothing,” Sarah said. “He trusts me completely.” “And when he’s dead, how much is the life insurance payout?” “Five million. I’m the sole beneficiary.” Five million. Life insurance. So I was the one who was supposed to die. I leaned against the concrete wall and took a slow, deep breath. My hands were shaking. Not from fear. From pure rage. I pulled out my phone and hit record. “What’s the exact plan?” Sarah asked. “Simple,” Kevin said. “When he works the night shift, he usually goes to the parking garage around 3:00 AM for a smoke break. There are no security cameras in that specific blind spot. I’ll be waiting for him there.” “And then?” “And then—” Kevin laughed. “We stage an accident. While he’s smoking, he accidentally trips and falls down the stairs. Head trauma. Dead on impact.” “Won’t they suspect foul play?” “No. He’s a forensic pathologist, high-stress job, constantly pulling all-nighters. Sudden cardiac arrest leading to a fall is totally believable. Plus, those garage stairs are steep enough that a fatal fall makes sense.” “What about the autopsy?” “The autopsy will be fine,” Kevin assured her. “I’ll control the force, make sure the blunt force trauma perfectly matches an accidental fall. Besides, his own colleagues aren’t going to suspect a murder right off the bat.” Sarah was silent for a few seconds. “Are you absolutely sure nothing will go wrong?” “Positive. I’ve studied his schedule, and I’ve scoped out the garage layout. It’s foolproof.” “Good,” Sarah said. “When it’s done, we split the five million 50/50.” “Deal.” I heard the clink of glasses. Followed by the sound of kissing. I stopped the recording. Turned around, and slowly walked down the stairs. Every step was silent. So quiet I couldn’t even hear myself. But my heartbeat was deafening. So heavy it felt like it was going to smash through my ribcage. Back in my car, I played the recording. Listened to it all over again. Confirmed I hadn’t missed a single detail. Then, I sent a text to Dr. Miller. “Doc, I need to take tomorrow off.” He replied almost instantly. “What’s wrong?” “I have some personal business to handle.” “What kind of personal business?” “I’ll tell you tomorrow.” “Alright. Stay safe.” I locked my phone. Leaned back in the driver’s seat. Closed my eyes. All I could see was Sarah’s face. That face I used to love so deeply. Now, it only made me feel violently sick.

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